


The Swallow & the Fox

by Lyracst



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Age Difference, Avallac'h POV, Ciri POV, Dream Sex, F/M, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rebuilding Trust, Sex Magic, Sexy things happened, Vaginal Sex, What happened between Ciri and Avallac'h prior to TW3, we need to KNOW
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:15:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21774307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyracst/pseuds/Lyracst
Summary: On the run from Eredin and the Hunt, Ciri finds herself in the company of of an unexpected ally.  With Avallac'h's help, Ciri embarks on the path to unlocking the depths of her powers and what it means to be Child of the Elder Blood.Takes place after the novels and prior to The Witcher 3, with eventual crossover into and after the events of The Witcher 3.  All characters belong to Andrzej Sapkowski and CDPR - I am but an adoring fan with lots of ideas to fill in the gaps.NOTE: Contains spoilers from the novels and video games.
Relationships: Avallac'h | Crevan Espane aep Caomhan Macha/Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon
Comments: 69
Kudos: 137





	1. Focus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ciri's POV

“Focus, Zireael. Patience.”

He said it in the way he always said it, in that calm, simple tone that made her feel anything but patient, feel the very  _ opposite  _ of patient. She hated when he said it. He must have seen her reaction to his words, the tiniest furrow of annoyance in her brow, or sensed it somehow, for he stepped closer and leaned forward to study her. She knew the way, had watched him watch her many times - slow, meticulous, like an artist appraising his work. Her eyes were closed, but she could feel him near, sense the shadow cast by his body pass over her, and she could smell him. The scent was unfamiliar, in that she had never experienced it prior to meeting him, yet it was familiar now, as it unfailingly lingered about him and seemed more intrinsic to him than a perfume or some other derived scent. It was earthy, herbal, pleasantly aromatic, and there was something else, something within it that she swore she almost recognized. She tried to focus, but the effort it required seemed to only drive concentration further from her reach. She felt him lean closer still, and her thoughts scattered helplessly before she could check them. Suspicious, he pressed two fingertips to her forehead, and she gasped lightly, his mind probing hers. 

_ A burst of white light. The sun on her arms. Laughter,  _ his  _ laughter, so rare that it sounded strange, and hers, too. She was running, faster and faster, gaining momentum as she sprinted down the hill, almost too fast to control or to stop. A twinge of fear. _

_ “Ciri!” _

_ There was a note of alarm in his voice, and she soon discovered why. She could feel the moment her balance was lost, sensed her feet depart from the ground as she slipped into a tumble. A whoosh of air. Strong arms closed around, securing her, locking her in an upright position. Safe. She turned her head against his chest, her heart thumping inside of her, wild but fiercely, unceasingly alive. She tilted her chin up, her bright green eyes meeting his frightening yellow ones. Though they were not frightening at all, truly, not to her. Her lips twisted into a grin of relief, an expression he mirrored. They both laughed. _

He released her. The sudden lapse back into the present sent a jolt through them both. Ciri had thought she would be used to the sensation by now - to her dismay, he linked their minds easily and often - but each time, the connection and disconnection sent a small, not entirely unpleasant shudder through her. The hint of pleasure the feeling left her only served to sharpen her temper further. She felt his fingertips fall away from her forehead. 

“You’re not focusing, Zireael.”

“And  _ you’re _ not helping,” she snapped, her eyes flicking open to meet his gaze with an indignant glare. “You know I hate it when you do that! You have no right!”

Avallac’h smiled faintly, vaguely, but did not respond, far too familiar with her combative nature by now to take the bait and argue with her. It was a game they had played many times, one she turned to out of boredom. Flustered by his silence and refusal to rise to the challenge, she unlocked her crossed legs and dropped her arms to her sides with a soft groan. 

“Anyway, we’ve been at this for hours. My legs are growing numb. Can’t we take a break?”

To her surprise, Avallac’h actually seemed to be considering her plea, and Ciri was even more surprised when, after a moment, he nodded in assent.

“Truly?” Her vibrant green eyes widened slightly in disbelief.

“Yes. But we must be cautious and cannot stay for long. And you must be the one to take us.”

Ciri jumped to her feet and leaned forward to dust the dirt from the knees of her breeches, eager to act immediately lest he change his mind. 

“Where to?”

“Somewhere familiar, or somewhere new,” he mused, slowly and pensively turning his staff in his hands. “Your choice.”

He offered her his arm in an unusual display of trust, and Ciri seized it with a grin, instantly whisking them far away from their secluded camp in a flash of brilliant, blue-green light.

\-----

Child of the Elder Blood. Daughter of Lara Dorren. The Lion Cub of Cintra.  _ Hen Ichaer _ . Those who knew her well had the audacity to simply call her ‘Ciri’, a small fragment of the grandiose, ridiculous string of names and titles bestowed upon her for her human lineage. To him, she was Zireael.

Avallac’h watched her trace a path along the shore, dancing in and out with the motion of the tide, never letting the waves get too high up her boots. She laughed as a particularly strong push of the current nearly knocked her off balance, and danced backwards towards solid ground. He followed slowly and far from the water’s edge, content enough to observe her antics and to enjoy the crisp sea air. She loved the ocean, he knew, loved the sight of it, loved the power she sensed in its never-ending tide. The coast in their world was far too harsh for her to enjoy, the narrow beaches too rocky for swimming, the water too cold. She longed to travel more frequently, he knew, to flex her growing skills in a more practical way, but it was quickly becoming too dangerous to be worth the risk, even for these short trips. Avallac’h frowned, his eyes unconsciously turning to the horizon and to the setting suns that burned so many brilliant shades of red.  _ Dearg Ruadhri _ . Eredin Bréacc Glas and his Riders were closing their circle, tightening their noose in their long pursuit around the Spiral. It had been two months since Avallac’h had snatched her from Eredin’s closing grip, denying him the prize he sought so furiously, and Eredin had not slowed his chase for a moment since. Ciri remained safe when in their world, but Eredin and those who stood beside him were uncovering their tracks more quickly and easily with each new plane they moved through. 

_ Our world _ , Avallac’h reflected on the nature of his own thoughts with quiet amusement, the corner of his lips twitching into the faintest trace of a smile. He returned his gaze to Ciri, who had since lost her balance, or surrendered it, and was seated, shoving her now-bare feet deep into the wet sand, the waves creeping up around her and lapping against her hands. A few softly-curling tendrils of wild, ashen hair had fallen loose from the knot she kept it tied in. They fell around her face, partially obscuring her long, curving scar. She laughed in delight as the waves rolled in stronger, threatening to knock her arms out from under her. The sound cut through air, high and sweet like a musical note and mingled with the cries of the gulls that circled overhead, and for a moment a different scene of a different time flashed before his eyes. 

_ “You’re wrong!” _

_ “I don’t think so, m’hlaith,” he smiled, though he kept his head bowed to keep her from seeing it.  _

_ “You are!” She insisted with a laugh, a beautiful, magical sound. “Look, it says right here!” _

_ She extended a long, delicate finger and tapped the page of the book that lay open before them both.  _

_ “Where?” He leaned in closer, pretending he could not see what she was referring to. His arm brushed against hers, then his hand. She smiled softly, her eyes locked on the book, but she did not move away. She cleared her voice gently and read to him.  _

_ “‘ _ Arxinia amaratus _ is best harvested on the third new moon after its first blossom, as to most completely preserve its many delicate magical properties.’ I told you.” _

_ Her thumb ran along the edge of his hand, ever so softly. Avallac’h blinked in surprise and lifted his gaze to meet hers before he could stop himself. She was staring at him with her wide, beautiful, seemingly bottomless green eyes, and he could not look away.  _

_ “You did,” he replied, but his voice sounded distant, as though the words were spoken by someone else. He could not look away.  _

_ “Avallac’h…” _

He blinked, the light of the setting sun harsh against his eyes. 

“Avallac’h?”

She was just a few feet away, the gold enmeshed around her pupils catching fire in the sunlight. For a moment, his heart clenched in his chest.  _ Lara _ . But the past ebbed away, replaced by the present, and Avallac’h felt a deep disappoint wash over him as he recognized her, swiftly tailed by shame. Through no fault of her own, she did indeed bear Lara’s eyes, along with more than traces of Lara’s other features. Their resemblance was striking, eerie at times, and a source of subtle but constant torment. Ciri’s resemblance to her ancestor, to his Lara, was like a haunting - each time he looked at her, he saw a ghost first, and not the girl she truly was. Ciri knew it, too. She saw it in the revulsion in his eyes, and when she saw him looking at her and remembering Lara, she looked him at just as she was looking now - with defiance. With anger. With pain. Avallac’h averted his gaze, his fingers tightening around his staff. 

“Apologies, Zireael, my thoughts wandered to another place.”

She said nothing, though no doubt she wished to. Instead, Ciri turned to the sad state of her feet, which were caked in sand. She set about cleaning them off as best she could, dancing from foot to foot on the beach, before nimbly pulling her boots back on. 

“We should return.”

She looked at him sharply, a frown tugging at the edges of her lips. “Return? We’ve only just got here!”

“The longer we are away, the more time Eredin has to find us. He’s getting better at tracking us. Or rather, Caranthir has,” Avallac’h’s brow furrowed at the recollection of his protegee, but he swept the thoughts from his mind. Now was not the time to dwell on past wounds, though they were many. “Let’s go.”

Ciri’s shoulders fell slightly in defeat, but she argued no further. He extended his arm to her once more, and she took it, her fingers pressing hard as the air began to fizzle around them. There was a sharp  _ crack _ , then silence. The two suns sank beneath the horizon, giving way to the twin moons casting their pale light down along the empty shore. 

\-----

He left her to her own devices for the remainder of the day. Ciri set out on her own without complaint, content to wander their world with only Kelpie to keep her company. His mood always darkened when he thought of  _ her _ , and he thought of her often. Ciri had learned it was best not to ask him, not to coax him into talking about the memories that encircled him. He never shared, and Ciri had begun to understand it was mostly for her own sake that he kept his thoughts to himself. When he was like this, she felt more alone at his side than without him, and so she wandered. Kelpie trotted through the deep forest effortlessly. The mare wished to run, longed to feel the wind in her mane. Ciri felt the same. She guided Kelpie to the edge of the forest to the narrow path they often rode across the open, rolling meadows and let her fly. She leaned against the mare’s muscled neck, squinting her eyes against the cutting wind, and cried out, urging Kelpie on. They ran for a long time, ran until Kelpie’s coat grew slick with sweat. They ran until they were both breathless, then stopped. Ciri clutched the mare’s neck, her heart pounding as though she too had run, as fast as she was able. She felt like screaming. She felt like crying. She felt like fading away, dissipating into the cracks between times and places and running far away from their world. Instead, she took a minute or two to recover, then they turned around together, woman and horse, and ran back. 

It was after dark when Ciri finally urged the mare to return to their secluded camp. When they arrived, Avallac’h was nowhere to be seen, but Ciri spent little time searching. Instead, she saw to Kelpie, then took the liberty of quickly washing in the small, cold stream that flowed nearby. She returned to the camp, damp and teeth chattering, and sunk into the pile of blankets that marked her place by the fire. Her muscles felt tense and restless, but she ignored them as best she could and retrieved a handful of fruit they had collected earlier in the day. It was a poor excuse for a meal, but it quieted her clamorous stomach long enough to give her some respite from her hunger. Ciri shivered against the cool night air and pulled a blanket more tightly around her shoulders. She stared absently into the fire as her eyelids grew increasingly heavy. 

She did not notice him appear, so softly did he move, like a wraith. It was his eyes she noticed first. His strange, pale eyes. His face was inexpressive but kind, as it almost always was, but his eyes - they glowed strangely in the firelight and reflected a dangerous, molten shade that made his gaze even more piercing than normal. 

“Avallac’h?” She spoke his name softly, her voice rough with fatigue and sleepy alarm. 

“I’m here, Zireael,” he reassured her, his own voice low and soothing.

Ciri sat up slowly, realizing she had sunk exhaustedly into her bed at some point. She wished to speak to him, wished him to speak to her, wished to converse with him in a normal way, not about training or duty or destiny. She often they talked of nothing else, and the monotony maddened her. He was the only other living person yet to be seen in this strange world they had taken up refuge in, and she knew very little about him. He seemed to sense her desire, or he had thoughts of his own, for he continued to watch her from where he sat across the fire. 

Her brow furrowed, the strangeness of his mannerisms beginning to worry her, “Is everything alright?”

“Yes.”

She tilted her head doubtfully as he continued to watch her. She was not certain if it was a trick of the flickering light or if it truly happened, but for a moment, Ciri thought she saw his gaze drop from her face to her chest, which was partially visible beneath the low neckline of her shirt now that she was sitting upright. The thought sent a rush of blood to her head and colored her cheeks. To her sudden surprise, she felt a twinge between her legs.

“Are you sure?”

Her question trailed off as he stood up and drew closer, stepping around the fire to lower himself into a seated position right beside her. Her heart began to beat a bit more quickly, and another question, or perhaps a series of questions, began to form on her lips, but his eyes flashed with something strange and new, and she lost the words she had been reaching for altogether. After a moment, he spoke.

“You desire me,” he noted, a statement rather than a question.

Her eyes widened in disbelief, and she quickly looked away, searching desperately for anything to say, “I...it has little to do with you. We’ve been trapped here so long, just the two of us, and I…,” she exhaled a slow, shuddering breath from between her teeth, her defeated gaze returning to his. 

His expression remained unchanged, but from this close, she could better see it. Strangely, the look seemed akin to one of want. Her heart began to beat faster still, and Ciri felt her throat constrict with an unusual nervousness. Slowly, Avallac’h removed the travel cloak he was wearing. He placed it aside, neatly, methodically, and removed his gloves as well. She did not dare ask, found she could not speak at all, so she waited, uncertain of what could come next. She did not have to wait long.

“Lie back.”

“ _ What? _ ”

“Or remain seated, if you wish - whatever is your preference.”

Her eyes narrowed in a glare, her temper flaring at last and instantly overcoming all else. “Avallac’h, what are you doing?”

“You expressed that you have a need. One that has little to do with me, as you’ve stated, but a need nonetheless. And we are alone, in this world, as far as we know. If it is a need you cannot satisfy yourself, then I shall help you. If you wish.”

His frustratingly mechanical answer drove her back to speechlessness. Struggling to comprehend what he was telling her, she continued to glare at him in disbelief. He waited, ever patient. As the silence began to grow and stretch, an itching thought worked its way into her mind. _Why not? What would be the harm? Why_ shouldn’t _he tend to you? He needs you, after all. He needs your blood, needs the power that it holds. Isn’t it fair that he do something for you in return?_ Her stomach roiled at the wickedness of the thought, but she slowly lowered herself onto her back nonetheless, her eyes glinting with wariness. Avallac’h inclined his head, acknowledging her mistrust. She fell back completely and waited. For a long moment, she waited, eyes trained on the stars, but nothing happened. It was not long at all before impatience took over.

“So what does your proposal entail, exactly? What are you planning to--ah!”

The sensation had started so gently, crept in so gradually, that at first Ciri had not noticed it all. But the feeling seemed to cross a threshold and suddenly made itself apparent in the form of an intense, warm vibration that centered itself on the sensitive peak between her legs and radiated outward and over her body. She flashed a wide-eyed look at Avallac’h. He was watching her with that same, unfaltering expression, but when her gaze locked with his, she was certain she caught just a glimpse of a grin tug at the corner of his lips. Ciri glared venomously, but another, sudden pulse made her cry out again with delighted surprise, and any impending argument instantly dissipated. One of his hands was raised slightly, his fingers pointed upwards. It was not visible, but she could feel it. From his palm emanated a strong, familiar energy.  _ Her  _ energy. She realized, suddenly, that he must be drawing from her own power, conducting it, and focusing it back at her. 

“Exactly so, Zireael,” his tone was oddly smug and patronizing, like a teacher congratulating a dumb pupil with praise.

She gritted her teeth, but before she could even begin to form a thought this time, the energy pulsed again, and Ciri moaned, her forearms trembling so intensely that she could no longer hold herself up. She sank back into her blankets in surrender. He seemed to approve of her decision, as the pulsing flowing through her grew stronger still, honing in on the most sensitive points of her body. It throbbed between her legs, warmed her abdomen, kissed her nipples, her neck, gently bit at her lips. Though still almost completely clothed, Ciri felt as though she was surrounded by attentive lovers, crawling over her, touching all of her at once. She moaned again, louder, and spread her legs beneath her blankets. 

The intensity of the sensation felt as though it was pulling her in every direction. She was overwhelmed with pleasure, lost in it, so absorbed by it that she felt as though she would drown. Her vision darkened, and the sounds in her ears - the soft noises of the forest, the gentle hum of the magic he was directing at her, the piercing notes of her own moans - began to grow distant and faint. Through it all, his voice cut like a knife, low and gentle, but commanding.

“ _ Focus, Zireael _ .  _ Patience. _ ”

He said it in the way he always said it, in that calm, simple tone that made her feel anything but patient, feel the very  _ opposite  _ of patient. She loved when he said it.

Ciri did as he instructed, forcing the pleasure into a honed point and directing it to where she desired it the most. For a moment, it felt as if every muscle in her body trembled from the force of it, quivering, building, and then releasing. She shuddered hard, almost violently, and screamed, her cry piercing through the near-silence of their reclusive camp and the forest around them. 

Ciri awoke with a start and instantly sat up in her makeshift bed.  _ A dream?  _ Her eyes flicked across the fire to where he usually slept, but the brightness of the flames obscured her sleep-ridden vision. She blinked a few times and focused. He was there, in his bed, turned away from her.  _ Asleep _ . She gave a quiet sigh of relief and tried to collect her thoughts, which remained scattered and agitated. Her body felt equally as restless and, Ciri noticed with a mixture of surprise and indignation, aroused. There was an undeniable wetness between her legs, and an ache. An ache so powerful that she felt helpless to do anything but push aside her annoyance and address it. Ciri glanced across the fire once more, her teeth tugging anxiously at her bottom lip. Avallac’h remained motionless, other than his outline, which rose and fell steadily beneath the furs piled on top of him. She eased herself back down into her bed, drew the blankets over herself, and slipped her fingers between her legs. 

Her lips parted slightly, and her fears were confirmed. She was extremely excited, shamefully so. For some time, she had toyed with the idea that she found Avallac’h attractive in some way, but Ciri had refused to address the thought directly. After all, it was his fault she was here. He had lured her to his world, had held her there against her will, had forced her to lay with the Alder King. It was because of Avallac’h that she had met Eredin, that Eredin had seen her, touched her, and was now able to track her through time and space.  _ But he also saved me _ .  _ From Eredin and his Red Riders _ . 

Ciri’s eyes remained locked on his shadowed, slumbering figure, alert for any movement or sign of stirring. Her fingers pressed down, circling slowly in a steady, persistent pattern. She sighed softly, allowing her thighs to fall outwards, and her body relaxed into a pleasurable rhythm. She focused on the feeling that still lingered from the dream, concentrated on the details that had made it so vivid, and moved her fingers faster: the buzzing vibration of the energy he had directed to her, the sensation as it swept over her skin and settled onto her most sensitive areas, the look in his eyes as he watched her…

Her breath shuddered, and she bit down on her lip to keep from crying out. Her back arched sharply and pressed into the ground. For several long moments, her muscles remained locked in place as a rush of pleasure swept through her, granting her the much-needed release she had been hoping for. Ciri fought to control her unsteady breathing, a trick she had learned and used often in quite another context, but it worked just as well now as it did on the battlefield. She released her breath with a slow, long exhale, and let her shoulders fall back as her body relaxed. Her head was still reeling when reason began to return, bringing with it a whole host of conflicting thoughts and feelings, the most prominent of which was embarrassment. He was Aen Elle, born of a race that, Ciri had learned first-hand, despised humans. He had been and still seemed to be almost fanatically obsessed with Lara Dorren, from whom Ciri was descended. He was secretive, strange, and older than she could comprehend. Logically, there was very little that she should find appealing about him at all. She should hate him, in fact, and perhaps she did. But she wanted him, despite all else. 

Ciri withdrew her hand and closed her eyes, struggling to silence the multitude of thoughts and arguments rushing through her mind.  _ Focus, Zireael _ . She could hear the words - his instructions, his voice - so infuriatingly appropriate, even now. Silencing an impending groan of frustration, Ciri turned her back on the fire and on him, and shut her eyes harder, demanding her uncertainty to subside and for sleep to take its place. Eventually, it did.


	2. Hunted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ciri's POV

By the time Ciri awoke, it was well past dawn. The fire had died down to sputtering embers. Avallac’h’s bed was empty. She was not surprised, but neither was she in the mood to dwell on it too deeply. Avallac’h’s feelings were his own, as he had made very clear from his distant demeanor and refusal to answer any of her questions. In truth, after the dream she had had the night before, Ciri was grateful to be apart from him. Her thoughts drifted back to the dream, and she shuddered lightly, suddenly recalling with striking clarity how intense, how  _ real  _ it had felt. She was no stranger to vivid dreams – she had had them often ever since that fateful night in Cintra, many years ago – but this one had seemed different.  _ It wasn’t a nightmare, for one. _

Ciri pulled on her boots and let down her hair, impatiently running her fingers through the long, erratic ashen waves to smooth it as best she could before tying it up again. She let a long piece fall loose across the scarred side of her face. The morning was cool as she set off from their camp, but the bright sun and cloudless sky promised a beautiful day. She set off at a quick pace, astride Kelpie, and delighted at how quickly the current of the wind swept away the negative feelings she had harbored since awakening. Kelpie seemed to share her improved mood. The mare’s powerful legs churned, her muscles rippled, carrying them both far and fast. Ciri turned the mare away from the path to the sea and instead headed in a new direction, pushing deeper into the forest, an area that she had left unexplored until now due to the difficult terrain. Kelpie seemed up the challenge. The mare was remarkably sure-footed, and the rougher, uneven path hardly slowed her down at all. The forest thickened around them, and the way ahead grew dim, the canopy above blocking out most of the sunlight. The air grew much cooler. Ciri shivered and slowed Kelpie to a trot. 

They had reached a sluggish, narrow stream that ran adjacent to a jagged outcropping of stone. Beyond the stream, the terrain rose sharply into a series of hills that cut upward through the treetops. Ciri craned her neck in an attempt to see the tops of them, but they were obscured by foliage. It seemed clear enough that there was no going over them, not here, so she urged Kelpie onward and followed the stream, hoping to find a break in the hills they could pass through. The going was slower, now, and more cautious as they explored. Kelpie seemed on edge and skittish, and Ciri mirrored the mare’s discomfort, though she could not place why. She knew for certain she had not seen this place before, though there was something about the thickening trees that felt strangely familiar and made her reminisce. 

Her thoughts drifted back over the past couple of months, wandering back to the when they had first landed in their world, when their unlikely partnership had just begun. Goosebumps rose along Ciri’s arms, and it was difficult to determine whether it was due to the chilled forest air or to the clarity with which she remembered it all…

\-----

“Run until you collapse,  _ until your heart gives out _ if you wish,  _ luned _ . I will find you.”

His voice boomed through the trees, seeming to come from all directions at once and startling a flock of crows into flight in a burst of dark feathers. But the pounding of hooves made it clear where they were, and they were not far behind her. Ciri leapt nimbly over another jutting root, her sword clattering on her back. She cursed silently, not wishing to waste a single, precious breath, as the sounds of their pursuit grew louder still.  _ If only I had Kelpie... _ But they had caught her returning from a foraging trip and had strategically cut her off from her path back to her shabby, hidden camp, and from her mare. She hoped for Kelpie’s sake that she had bolted far and fast, frightened by the scent and clamor of the Hunt and their dreadful hounds. 

Ciri veered sharply to the left, opting to abandon the relatively clear path she was on for the thicker, wooded area nearby.  _ The trees ought to slow them down.  _ And they seemed to. For a moment, the noise of them seemed to fade, and she dared to slow her pace long enough to try to catch her breath.  _ Control your breathing. Remember what he taught you _ . For a moment, his face flashed before her eyes, kind in its own way, only hardened by the strenuous life he had led since childhood.  _ Geralt… _ But the memory melted away with an unpleasant pang as Ciri remembered what fate had befallen him and Yennefer both. She had little time to process the grief that had suddenly risen, as the foliage not far to her right exploded, and an armored rider charged into view. 

_ Not just any rider…it’s him _ .

His cape glimmered, even in the half-light of the forest, reflecting its varied shades of red. The predominant shade was a malevolent crimson, the color of pooling blood. He wore no mask, and as she darted away from him, she caught a glimpse of his vivid green eyes from behind his wild, dark hair, locked onto her every move and filled with a horrible excitement that made her stomach drop and twist.  _ Like prey _ . Her heart surged, and so did she, sprinting towards a thicket of trees that would be nearly impossible to ride through. She reached the edge of the trees just moments before him, and his voice cut through the air with a hissed curse as she slipped out of his reach. Ciri did not dare to slow her pace. Behind her, she heard a heavy thud as he leapt from his horse, landing roughly on booted feet. She could hear his armor rattling as he continued to chase her on foot. The way before her was growing narrower and narrower, the trees thickening around her until the branches tore at her clothes and hair. So close behind her, he laughed, a grating, chilling sound, like the moan of metal against metal.

“You’re mine, Zireael!”

The ground before her dropped off sharply, but she could not afford to hesitate. Ciri flung herself forward and dashed down the hill, quickly losing her footing to her own momentum. She threw her shoulder forward, tucking her head, and let herself roll. The descent was rough, but not too long. When her tumble had slowed nearly to a stop, she leapt to her feet and cried out, her ankle nearly giving way beneath her weight.  _ Sprained. Damn it _ . She cast a wild look towards the top of the hill. He was descending, but slowly, cautiously. He did not have to hurry. He could see quite clearly that she was wounded. He knew as well as she that she would never escape if she fled. Her fingers reached over her shoulder, closing around the hilt of her sword. She drew her blade. The sight of her, hobbling, covered in dirt and blood, drawing her weapon for one desperate last stand, apparently amused him. He laughed again as he descended, his armored arms spread in mock greetings.

“Your wings are clipped, so you bear your claws, Zireael. I’m impressed at your ferocity, but there’s no need for it. You flee from me, turn your weapon on me out of ignorance. You run blindly, like an animal. You do not even know the reason for your fear.”

Ciri gritted her teeth and clenched her sword, holding it at the ready before her. He was nearly to the bottom of the hill.

“I know you wish to drag me back to your world, keep me prisoner, force me to bear your child. You want the Elder Blood,  _ my  _ blood. You wish me to surrender it. I will not!”

“I am not your enemy, Zireael,” Eredin’s face changed. The wildness in his eyes receded, his voice became somber, earnest, almost coaxing. “You speak of Avallac’h’s desires, not mine. We’ve never spoken of what I want, what I hope for. We never had the chance.”

“I don’t trust  _ either _ of you,” she spat, fingers flexing on her hilt. 

“What reason do you have to doubt me?” Eredin lowered his arms, but continued to step closer, moving lithely across the now-flat ground, moving in a slow, wide circle around her. “Did I not tell you the truth? That you shouldn’t trust Avallac’h? That he lied to you from the start, planned to keep you in Tir ná Lia regardless of whether you held up your end of the deal?”

“How can I know if that was the truth? You killed your king before he could…”

Ciri shuddered with disgust and anger. She wished he would stop talking and start fighting.

“A grave accusation,” Eredin’s countenance remained measured, solemn. His eyes remained locked on her as he continued his arc around her. “I was sorry to hear of Auberon’s death, as were we all. But no amount of grief can change the past now. Now, we all must act to change our future. That is why I am here, Zireael. That is why I pursue you. Avallac’h wishes to take the Elder Blood back from you. He would do so by force, in his cold, sterile lab, if he had to. Although our goals might ultimately appear the same, I wish to force nothing upon you, steal nothing from you..”

He stepped closer, ceasing his arc to move directly towards her. Ciri did not move, did not lower her sword. She waited, patiently, as calmly as she was able, for him to move within striking distance. He paused just outside of it, a sad smile crossing his strange, harsh features. 

“Your fate is sealed, Zireael, but it need not be unpleasant.”

“Shut up,” she hissed, gnashing her teeth.

“Quite the contrary, I could make it quite pleasurable for you. The way you felt before, when I spoke to across time and space, you feel the same now. I can sense it. You tremble when I draw near, but not out of revulsion. You wonder, imagine. And you deprive yourself, out of fear, but there is no need. Return with me now to Tir ná Lia, and I will satisfy any and every desire you wish.”

“You’re insane!” But there was a tremor in her voice, a blush across her cheeks, that betrayed too much. 

He grinned, a flash of the wildness returning to his eyes, and lunged forward. Her stomach clenched within her. She shifted her weight and swung her sword. Eredin must have assumed she was bluffing, for though he managed to dodge to the side, he did not react quickly enough. Her sword grated along his breastplate, leaving a long, clean scratch. He turned to her, the look of hateful, covetous fury renewed in his gaze.    
  
The rest happened very quickly. He lifted his hand to the sky and snarled a phrase in Elder Speech that she did not recognize. A flash of red light ascended from his fingertips like a beacon, and the treeline at the top of the hill exploded with motion. His Red Riders had been watching, waiting for his command. They descended quickly, the hounds leading the group, filling the air with their horrible, screeching cries. His Dearg Ruadhri followed soon after atop their lean, rasping mounts with their hollow, gleaming eyes. Their weapons were raised and ready. Ciri watched them for a moment, wide-eyed with mounting terror. She could never hope to outrun them. They would be upon her in moments. There was only one way to escape. The air around her crackled, and the fine hairs on her arms and neck began to rise...but the path was blocked. Her heart jolted with alarm as she first feared that she had done something incorrectly and was about to be ripped apart, molecule by molecule, then realized with a sinking feeling that she could not teleport at all. Eredin was watching her closely, a malicious smile spreading across his harsh features.    
  
“You truly are mine, Zireael,” he rasped. “At last.”

Atop the hill stood a prominent figure, one of Eredin’s riders, and one that stood out from the rest. In his hand, he clutched a tall staff topped with a pulsing, white orb encased in a cage of metal - the source, she sensed, of her inability to escape.  _ The masked mage. _ Ciri had glimpsed him once or twice before, but she had paid him little heed until now. She cursed and returned her attention to Eredin, who was slowly closing the little distance left between them, his venomous eyes alight with anticipation. Ciri raised her sword once more, or attempted to, only to find that even her muscles were no longer her own. The same magic that had prevented her from teleporting to safety was now binding her in place. As though encased in ice, she could not move, could not struggle, could hardly breathe.  _ No...gods, no.  _ A cold shiver of dread shot down her spine as Eredin drew closer still, seeming to tower over her, and close enough for her to see her own panicked reflection in his malevolent gaze...

A brilliant flash lit up the side of the hill, concentrated in the orb atop the staff of the masked mage. The orb flared, flickered wildly, then was suddenly snuffed out as if by a great gust of wind. Simultaneously, the air next to her shivered and erupted with a deafening crack as if the very fabric of the space had been ripped open. Ciri shielded her face from the sudden burst of energy, then looked up in surprise upon finding that she could move once more.  _ And able to lift my sword _ . But Eredin had stumbled backwards, the victorious smirk on his face receding into a hideous mask of fear and fury, directed solely at the figure that had emerged from the portal.

“ _ Zireael, you must come with me _ .”

There was no time to respond, no time to shake off his grasp, twist out of the arm that wrapped around her waist, for Ciri recognized the voice that had spoken, and she had no desire to do as she was commanded. But she had no choice. The hill, swarming with the dreaded  _ Dearg Ruadhri,  _ was retreating. Eredin, just a moment ago so close he had nearly had her in his grasp, was growing distant and pale, no more than a specter. The sounds of the Hunt were no longer deafening. Instead, there was a rising rushing sound, then a sharp, echoing  _ crack _ , then nothing but the labored, tremulous sounds of their breaths.

Ciri felt incredibly nauseous. She dropped to her knees and took a long, shuddering breath, focusing in the way  _ he _ had taught her.  _ Control your breathing _ . Her breathlessness was swiftly replaced with anger as she felt her rescuer draw near. 

“Zireael--”

Her fingers closed around the hilt of her sword. Ciri sprung to her feet, tottering immediately as the pain in her ankle flared. She caught herself and steadied her pose, pointed her blade directly at the Aen Elle’s chest.    
  
“Stay back. I’m not going anywhere with you.”

Avallac’h looked genuinely surprised to be standing at the edge of her sword. He stopped his advance instantly, his eerily pale eyes wide and serious as they locked with hers. His face was drawn and gaunt, she noticed, and he looked to be as breathless as she was. He was leaning heavily on his staff. Ciri’s ankled twinged with pain, effectively draining away some of her resolve, and she lowered her sword with an exhausted sigh. 

“Eredin and his Riders aren’t enough? Now you’re here as well? To take me back?”

He looked as though he was about to speak, but she cut him off sharply. 

“So how will it work?” She snapped. “Whoever catches me first gets to bed me? And I assume that also means whoever catches me will take your Alder King’s place? And live in glory as the savior of your people, the one who reclaimed your precious Elder Blood?”

“Zireael, I am not here to harm you--”

Ciri laughed derisively and sunk to the ground, no longer able to stand, but she kept her sword at the ready. If he planned to capture her, he would not have any easy time of it. Relieved to no longer have her blade pointed at his heart, Avallac’h took a long breath, his shoulders sagging. 

“You doubt me, and you have reason to. The last time we met--”

“You used me like a toy to entice your impotent king, threatening to keep me from ever seeing my loved ones again!”

“There was a great deal at stake,” he replied grimly, his eyes growing hard and cold. “I did what I thought I had to do, and I failed. Now, there is an even greater risk.”

“I feel no pity for you.”

Avallac’h seemed to turn to stone at her insolence. He turned away, staring off somewhere into the distance, his face an unreadable mask. It was true, she did not feel pity for him, but she did feel regret for having spoken so harshly. She sheathed her sword and rubbed her face furiously, trying desperately to shake off the adrenaline and the flurry of twisted emotions her encounter with Eredin had left her with. 

_ “You truly are mine, Zireael. At last.” _ Eredin’s words had filled her with dread. But they had filled her with something else, as well. With something that had awoken the very first time she had seen him, something she had no desire to acknowledge, for the thought of it filled her with shame. It was not unlike the feeling Avallac’h inspired.  _ Curiosity. Willingness. Or, desire. _

Ciri cursed, drawing Avallac’h’s attention.

“Are you hurt?”

Surprised at his concern, she twisted her foot and winced. Her ankle was beginning to swell and turn an unpleasant color. 

“I can assist--”

The look of warning in her eyes gave him pause as he knelt next to her, but he continued in spite of her, adopting a rather stubborn look of his own. She would have squirmed away from his touch, but the pain kept her still. His fingers deftly undid the laces of her boots, gently pushed up the leg of her trousers to expose bare skin. His hands were careful, his touch not unpleasant as he examined her. In fact, his touch felt rather enjoyable, even soothing, and it carried the same tingling trait that Ciri had experienced during her nights with the Alder King. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to relax for a moment.

“You shouldn’t walk like this,” Avallac’h muttered his assessment, slowly retracting his hands. “I can administer magic that will help with the pain, but it would be dangerous to do so here, unprotected. There is a place, not far from here, that I’ve prepared for us--”

“You did  _ what _ ?” Her eyes snapped open. “A place for ‘us’, meaning you expect me to stay here with you?”

“You must.”

Ciri stuttered with unbelieving anger, a barrage of questions, accusations, and insults brimming at her lips. Avallac’h held up his hand to quickly dispel them, which managed to make her angrier. 

“Ciri, please listen.”

Her eyes widened at his use of her name, her whispered voice strained with fury, “How did you know to call me that? I’ve never told you my name.”

“I’ve been watching you, waiting for you,” he confessed. “I’ve been tracking you since you fled Tir ná Lia. But before you curse me and leave, please listen to me. When you fled, I could have chased you and caught you, but I did not. It was clear to me that I had already failed you, that I had my chance to work with you harmoniously and wasted it out of desperation and fear. I was wrong. I do not regret my actions. As I said, I did what I felt had to be done to protect my people. But I  _ am _ sorry for how I treated you. Forgive me, Zireael.”

Ciri tilted her chin forward defiantly. In truth, she understood his reasoning more than she cared to admit, and she wished to believe he was sincere, but how could she? He had used her shamelessly, and as little as it seemed to mean to him, it meant a great deal to her. 

“If you’re sorry, why are you here? What do you want from me now?”

“Your trust, Zireael,” his eyes locked with hers, and she could see the desperate sincerity in them, hear it in his voice. “And your help.”

\-----

The heavy snapping of twigs brought her back to the present with a jolt. A heartbeat later, she felt Kelpie’s muscles ripple and braced as the mare danced sharply to the side, preparing to run. It was too late. The source of the mare’s alarm was already far too close. Ciri had never seen a creature like it before. In terms of size, it resembled a fiend, a massive, horned creature she had seen only in the dusty tomes Vesemir had once forced her to read. But in place of hooves, this creature had long, curved claws. Instead of a short coat, it had long, shaggy fur that hid most of its body. Its face was long and predatory with massive jaws and a dark, protective film that obscured its eyes. And it was approaching them surprisingly rapidly, given its size, closing the distance between them in a few powerful bounds. 

Ciri leapt from Kelpie’s back and instinctively struck the mare’s hindquarters, as she had seen Geralt do many times. The mare shot away obediently, her quick movements drawing the beast’s ravenous attention. Cursing, Ciri snatched up the closest, largest stone she could find and flicked her wrist, striking the creature directly in the ear. It turned its attention to her with a snap of its head. The creature was upon her in a moment, lunging its open jaws forward with no small amount of power. Ciri stumbled backwards and drew her sword, but her heel caught on a jutting root, sending her toppling to the ground. The beast struck, but she struck faster. As the creature reached for her with open mouth, Ciri thrust her sword upwards and through the underside of its jaw. 

_ “Zireael!” _

She did not know where he had come from, had neither seen him nor heard him, but never had she heard him sound so alarmed. Fighting to keep hold of her sword as the creature attempted to shake free, she glimpsed him standing near the edge of the forest, an eerie blue glow emanating from his raised staff.

“Relax, I can do this!” She shouted over the infuriated roars of the beast, but she felt less certain than her words suggested. The creature’s snapping maw was getting closer, despite her best efforts to shove it away from her torso. Rolling her weight onto her upper back, Ciri braced her feet against the creature’s face and tore her sword free of its mouth, purposefully twisting the blade. The thing howled in pain and retreated a few precious steps, giving her time to leap to her feet. Avallac’h was beside her. 

“Focus, Zireael,” he instructed calmly, kindly, but his voice was strange, distorted, and the blue glow emanating from his staff seemed to now be emanating from all of him. He lifted his hand towards her, and the Power arced from him to her with a sharp crack. 

Ciri gasped. The sensation that swept over her was familiar, similar to what she had experienced when first learning to tap into the Power with Yennefer years ago, but there was something about it that was new and very alluring. Within moments, she was bathed in a deep tingling that seemed to warm her from within. It crept along the fine hairs of her arms, snaked along her sinews, and settled in her core. Her lips parted, and she suppressed another gasp as she felt it tingling in her groin, encouraging a growing and aching arousal reminiscent of what she had felt in the previous night’s dream. She felt undeniably ravenous...and strong.

She raised her sword, the world around fading as her focused honed on the monster. The creature had regrouped, its rage heightened from the wound she had inflicted. It lowered itself to charge, its powerful legs bracing against the earth with force that seemed to rattle the rocks on the ground. The beast sprang forward, and so did she, arching her blade in a powerful swing. Her blade, seemingly charged with the energy that encapsulated her, cut deep and burnt through the creature’s flesh as it did so. The smell of burnt skin and hair filled the air, as did an agonized roar of pain as the blade grated against bone. Her sword was buried deep in the creature’s shoulder. Wrenching herself free, Ciri sprang away as the beast gave one final, desperate swipe of its arm, missed, and collapsed forward onto the ground. A dark, rancid pool quickly formed around its head and shoulders as it gave one last sigh, shuddered, and was still.

Her eyes wide with lingering adrenaline, she exhaled a long, shuddering breath and sheathed her sword. Avallac’h touched her arm lightly, and she jumped in alarm. 

“Are you alright?” 

Ciri looked at him, dazed, and noticed that the glow that had surrounded them both was gone, and his voice had returned to its normal, gentle cadence. She noticed, too, that his eyes held what seemed to be genuine concern. In fact, he was watching her very closely, and Ciri became more intensely aware of how close they stood, of the way his fingers pressed into her upper arm. 

“Zireael?”   


His voice seemed faint, dulled by a low, persistent pulsing in her ears. She ran her tongue across her lips, keenly aware of how much her muscles were trembling and how, though the Power had receded, the ache between her legs remained. She leaned towards him, swaying on unsteady feet. She wished to tell him…

“Avallac’h...” 

She wished to tell him, but the adrenaline was ebbing away, and the fight had taken a greater toll on her than she had expected. Her vision dimmed, and she felt a sudden, swelling vertigo, but she never felt the impact of the ground.

“I have you,” his voice was soft, hardly more than a whisper. The rest was darkness.


	3. Time and Time Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Avallac'h's POV

Avallac’h caught her weight gently as she fell, taking advantage of the momentum of her faint to sweep her legs out from under her and into his arms.  _ She weighs very little _ . He noted the press of her ribcage, the sharp jutting of her hip bones through her clothing with a twinge of sadness, and perhaps guilt. He knew for a fact that before he had brought her to their world, she had been on the run ever since she had left Tir n á Lia, and very likely since long before that. There was a good chance, he knew, that the woman in his arms had never  _ not _ been on the run, never  _ not _ been looking over her shoulder in fear, always expecting the worst. Bracing her weight against his chest, Avallac’h brushed a few errant tendrils of hair back from her pale face. 

“I am sorry,” he whispered, to her and to no one. She did not stir, and his words remained unheard, lost to the breeze.

Shifting his arm to better support her head, Avallac’h turned in the direction of their camp, but a thought made him pause.  _ The mare _ .  _ Kelpie. _ He scowled. He knew from experience how difficult the horse could be- not unlike her rider, the mare was tremendously headstrong- but he also knew how furious Ciri would be if he left the mare to fend for herself. He turned instead in the direction he had seen her bolt and set off. As they entered the edge of the forest, Avallac’h freed a hand as much as we was able, and made an elaborate sign.

“ _ Mire, _ ” he muttered, and the mare’s tracks revealed themselves with a soft, golden glow. He continued forward, more cautiously now, mindful of the roots and craggy rocks jutting up from the ground. Avallac’h could not help but chuckle softly at the absurdity of the situation, and at how similar it was to the first time he had transported Ciri to their world.

\----

“My trust? My  _ help _ ?” She snorted bitterly and tugged the leg of her breeches back down over her swelling ankle. “That’s a lot to ask, Avallac’h.”

“I realize,” he replied softly, disappointed at his inability to persuade her. 

She said nothing for a long time, her brilliant, emerald eyes unfocused with thought, and he did not interrupt her. It was her decision to make, and he knew he would not stop her if she chose to leave. Not for the first time, she surprised him. 

“Whatever it is you wish to ask, it’s pointless to discuss it here,” her eyes flicked warily to his. “Take me back to your camp, then.”

He wasted no time in obeying and perhaps too eagerly attempted to slip his arms beneath her. With deadly reflexes, she shoved him away with a furious scowl. 

“I meant  _ lead _ me back to your camp, not carry me!”

“Zireael, you’re wounded, as we’ve already established. Walking will only worsen it. Please, allow me to help you.”

“I’ll be fine, I’ve dealt with worse before. And anyway, I doubt you could carry me all the--”

Ciri gave a muffled yelp as he hoisted her into his arms and stood with little effort, silencing her doubts. Avallac’h knew how he differed from the males of her species, knew he appeared tall and boyish in stature in her eyes. He knew also that, like most Aen Elle, he was much stronger than he appeared, a fact that he found he was oddly pleased to share with her. She cast an uncertain arm around his shoulders to support herself, and for a brief and shamefully pleasant moment, he could feel her fingers curl into the folds of his cloak, feel the press of her nails through his clothes. He felt, too, her soft shudder as a patch of bared skin on her arm brushed against his neck, and the resulting mingling of their individual magical energies sent tingling vibrations through her body. For a moment, she looked at him earnestly, likely wondering if he felt the same sensation. Her curiosity quickly melted into stubborn indifference, however, and her questioning gaze turned into a scowl. She adjusted the sleeve of her blouse.

“Well? Let’s get on with it!” She snapped, clearly displeased with the dependency of her current position. He obeyed, and with no little effort hid the smug smile that threatened to creep across his lips. 

She sulked for the entirety of their journey, saying little. Avallac’h did not mind and was content to focus on finding the smoothest path back to the camp he had prepared. He remained alert and wary. Though he had spent some time in this world already, there was a great deal of it that he was not familiar with, and there was no telling what unfamiliar challenges might present themselves. Fortunately, their journey was quick and uneventful, and Ciri perked up slightly at the sight of the camp. Avallac’h had done his best to make it presentable, collecting blankets and furs to assemble proper beds for them both and taking the time to dig a suitable hearth. He had also collected some food that he knew would be agreeable to her biology, including an assortment of berries and a few small, silver fish that he had left smoking over the fire. As he had suspected, it had been some time since she had eaten a proper meal, judging by the growling of her stomach at the scent of the cooking fish. He lowered her gently, kneeling to place her on the pile of furs that designated her sleeping space. It was the taller of the two piles of blankets, and the space more sheltered from the wind by the stone overhang that marked the far side of their camp. Ciri cast a critical eye over the camp, clearly prepared for two people, then glanced at him with a raised brow.

“You really believed I would willingly come with you?”

“I had hoped,” he admitted, remaining knelt beside her. “Thank you for agreeing to stay.”

“For now,” she corrected sharply, carefully stretching out her wounded leg.

“Yes,” he conceded softly, “for now. Take deep, slow breaths, Zireael. This should not hurt, but it may feel strange.”

Ciri set back and let him proceed, her shoulders rising and falling steadily as she did as he asked. If she felt any discomfort, she showed no sign of it. In fact, she seemed atypically relaxed despite their closeness. As he applied a smooth, consistent flow of energy to the inflamed portion of her leg, he pressed his fingers carefully into the muscles. Her eyes cracked open suspiciously.   
  
“What are you doing?”   
  
“Massaging your leg muscles.”   
  
“I noticed,” she grumbled, an edge of irritation in her voice. “ _ Why _ are you massaging my leg?”

“To increase blood flow, Zireael,” Avallac’h paused and look up at her in exasperation. “Increasing the flow of blood to the injured area will allow the magic to sink in more deeply and be more effective. Shall I stop?”   
  
Ciri glowered at him for a long moment, her green eyes narrowing sharply at his irritation. At last, she threw her head back and closed her eyes once more. “No.”   
  
He continued, taking care to monitor the pressure he applied and the tension of her body. Not more than a few minutes had passed when she sat up again sharply, her eyes snapping open.   
  
“Kelpie!”   
  
Avallac’h’s brow furrowed in confusion at her exclamation. “What?”   
  
Ciri jumped up and winced, the healing he had done effectively reversed in an instant as she applied too much force to her wavering ankle. She cried out, more in annoyance than in pain.   
  
“Damn it! I’ve left Kelpie! My horse! I need to go back.”   
  
“Zireael--”   
  
“I have to find her before the Hunt does, if they haven’t already!”   
  
“Zireael, I highly doubt Eredin has made your mare a priority.”   
  
Her eyes grew cold, and when she spoke, her voice was surprisingly venomous. “I know only other Aen Elle matter to you and your people, and you probably think less of me for it, but I’m not like you. Kelpie is my responsibility, mine to care for, and I’m going to find her. I suggest you not try to stop me.”   
  
She turned away sharply. Against his better judgement, Avallac’h reached out a hand to stop her, grabbing her lightly by the arm. He held up a hand of surrender in an attempt to halt the fist she reflexively raised in response to being touched by him. Fortunately, the gesture worked. Her eyes locked with his, still hard with anger, but she lowered her free arm and relaxed her fingers.    
  
“If you want my help at all, with whatever you dragged me here for,” she muttered through clenched teeth, “you’ll help me find my horse.”   
  
Avallac’h studied her for a long moment, then released her arm and nodded. “Stay here and rest,” he instructed. “I’ll be back soon.”   


\----   
  
Frightened as she had been by the beast, Kelpie had not wandered so far as he had expected. He followed her trail through the trees, noting where she stopped to bite at a tuft of grass, where she had pawed at the ground to reveal a hidden cluster of fruit on a thick, thorned vine. He followed her path to a narrow stream, traced her path downriver, and at last came upon her in a small clearing, standing calmly in the shade of a grove of massive trees that had to be centuries old.    
  
Dappled in the sunlight filtering down through the canopy, the mare lifted her head at the sound of their approach. Her nostrils quivering sensitively. Fortunately, Kelpie had come to know his scent a bit better since the last time he had tracked her down, and the mare seemed especially reassured when she caught Ciri’s scent as well. She still danced nervously from foot to foot as he drew near, but she did not flee, nor were there any threats of biting. Shifting the unconscious Ciri’s weight in his arms once more Avallac’h raised a hand slowly. The mare hesitated, then brought her muzzle to his fingers, huffing softly at the sharp crackle of energy that danced between them.   
  
_ “M’aecáemm,  _ Kelpie, _ ” _ he murmured.    
  
The mare whinnied quietly and seemed to bow her head in assent. She did as she was asked, following a short distance behind them as Avallac’h turned once more in the direction of their camp. He wondered at what a strange sight they would make, the three of them, but there were no visible observers to witness their journey. They made it back to their camp without incident, the sun high and the shadows narrow. Avallac’h laid Ciri gently upon her bedding, gently stroking her hair out of her face and arranging the furs around her so that she might be comfortable. After tending to her, he tended dutifully to the mare, who had been standing obediently at the edge of camp and awaiting his instructions. First, he released her with a precise sign of his hand. Kelpie snorted at the sensation and wandered to the spot that she preferred best, a shady, grassy area far from the smoke of the fire. She allowed Avallac’h to remove her saddle and spend a few minutes brushing the dirt and burrs from her coat. He found it cathartic to tend to her, having secretly grown quite fond of the bristly mare. Kelpie, too, seemed to enjoy the attention. When he finished, Avallac’h patted the side of the mare’s muscular neck and offered her a small, sour apple from a stash he kept hidden at the back of their camp. Kelpie accepted the offering, then pointedly edged away, eager to decompress after the harrowing events of the day.    
  
Avallac’h turned his gaze once more on Ciri, still motionless on her pile of furs, and smiled softly.  _ Zireael will be pleased _ . He removed his cloak and settled himself upon his own bed, drawing his legs in easing into a meditative pose to reflect and to wait for her to wake. Not for the first time since the day had begun, he felt a pang of  _ déjà vu _ and could not help but recall his initial encounter with Ciri’s unique mare.

\----   
  
It was dangerous to return to the world they had left so soon, but Avallac’h saw that he had little choice. He was certain she was not bluffing. If he did not find her mare, Ciri would flee, slipping away from him once more, possibly for the last time. And if he did not find her soon, there was a good chance Kelpie would be killed, by the Hunt’s rabid dogs or by any number of other threats that lurked in the woods. He summoned the portal grimly but stepped through without hesitation - there was no time to waste.    
  
He returned to ruin. After their escape, the Hunt had flooded the area from which they had vanished, the hooves of their immense steeds trampling everything in their path, the Hunt’s presence leaving a sheen of frost over all. The air was still cold, the clouds still dark. A chilling wind swept across the barren land. It was a harsh reminder of why Eredin’s fears were justified and of what awaited them all if Avallac’h failed. The body of one of the Hunt’s hounds lay not far from where they had escaped, its corpse still dripping. Avallac’h could almost hear Eredin’s roar of anger, the singing cry of blade on bone as he released his frustration on the nearest target. He clutched his staff resolutely, drew his cloak closer against the cold, and cast his tracking spell, eager to find the mare quickly and return.    
  
Kelpie had bolted far, no doubt frenzied by the unfamiliar sounds and scents of the Hunt. Thankfully, Avallac’h was able to travel rather quickly on his own, and he navigated the forest on light feet. His haste was fortunate. Although the Hunt had departed, other dangers awaited the mare, just as Avallac’h had suspected. He found her surrounded by a ring of starved wolves, their ribs jutting from their sides, their tongues lolling with hunger. They were closing in quickly, made aggressive by their desperation, and the mare was fatigued from her arduous flight. The pack’s leader was pacing eagerly, ready to seize the first good opportunity to strike. As the large wolf lowered itself to spring, Avallac’h raised his staff.    
  
The air cracked, a brilliant flash of energy illuminating the dark trees and casting long, twisted shadows. The attacking wolf cried out pitifully with pain and rolled across the ground, smoke rising from its fur, before finally falling still. The rest of the pack burst into motion, their attention turning to him. Avallac’h raised his staff again, sending a chain of energy forth that struck several targets. The rest disbursed quickly, vanishing into the forest like ghosts.    
  
The commotion had startled the mare as well, however. Kelpie danced back and forth, mortified with fear, her eyes rolling. Avallac’h advanced slowly, steadily raising his free hand, palm-forward. 

_ “Cáelm,” _ he murmured, smoothly stepping forward. “ _ Cáelm,  _ Kelpie…”   
  
The mare seemed to be settling down. She lowered her head, huffing loudly, and locked her eyes on him as he approached. He extended his hand slowly towards her muzzle.   
  
“ _ Cáe--bloede!” _

  
Avallac’h hissed as her teeth closed on the flesh of his palm, hard enough to draw blood, and drew back sharply in surprise. Kelpie screamed a challenge that seemed to echo through the forest, reared and flashed her hooves, then resumed her anxious dance. Determined to be free of him, she began to step sideways, looking for an opportunity to bolt, but Avallac’h was growing weary of tedious tasks. His eyes narrowed.   
  
“ _ Deien!”  _ _  
_ _  
_ He snapped the fingers of his left hand, and the mare instantly ceased her agitated movements. Kelpie whinnied softly through clenched teeth, her jaw - and all other muscles - petrified by his spell. Her chest heaved with rapid, panicked breaths, but otherwise she was motionless at last. Feeling a pang of guilt, Avallac’h’s shoulders sagged, and he slipped his fingers carefully into her mane.    
  
“You’re never going to forgive me for this,” he muttered, frowning as he realized he was, ridiculously, speaking to a horse.   
  
He raised and lowered his staff, sharply striking the ground. Kelpie whinnied faintly again through her clenched teeth in terror as the portal burst into existence before them. Muttering a revision to his spell, he relaxed the mare’s legs - just her legs and all relevant muscles, taking care to leave her jaws clamped - and escorted her forward into the portal.    
  
Ciri was waiting and upon them in moments.   
  
_ “Kelpie!” _   
  
“I would leave her alone for now,” he advised sternly, waving his bloodied hand.    
  
Her brows furrowed, “What did you do to her?”   
  
“What did  _ I _ \--?”   
  
Avallac’h stared at her, incredulous, but quickly realized he lacked the strength for another argument. Stepping well away from the accursed mare and her rider, he withdrew his spell and freed her. To his surprise, Kelpie did not bolt or scream or kick. She most certainly did not bite. She simply butted her nose fondly against Ciri’s shoulder in a nauseatingly innocent plea for food, which Ciri rewarded with a handful of fruit from their own supplies. He said nothing, but sat moodily upon his bed and proceeded to repair his hand. He could feel her eyes on him, but he ignored it for several minutes. At last, she lost patience and cleared her throat pointedly. He raised his eyes and met hers. When their respective gazes locked, the hardness in hers seemed to dissipate, replaced with what seemed like surprise, perhaps even confusion. Her lips parted and she began to speak, stopped, started again. At last, she jutted her chin out stubbornly, crossed her arms over her chest, and glanced away.   
  
“Thank you,” she said swiftly, and nothing else. It was far more than he had expected.   
  
“You are welcome, Zireael.”   
  
She sat down near him, and he resumed tending to his hand, quietly muttering a spell. Ciri waited patiently, drawing up her knees and resting her arms on them. When at last he finished, he flexed his hand, nodded approvingly, and met her gaze once more. She tossed her head, sweeping the loose tendrils of hair back from her face.    
  
“So, tell me how I can help.”   
  
\----   
  
She was dreaming. She knew she was, for Ciri remembered the beast, the fight, remembered Avallac’h standing beside her, then remembered succumbing to darkness. She was dreaming, but, just like the night before, it felt real. Extraordinarily real, in fact. Her better judgment told her to push it away. If she focused, she could feel the edges of the dream, and she knew she could break out of it if she tried. But she did not. Instead, Ciri let herself fall further into it, using the pleasure she felt as an anchor to the present moment, fabricated though it was.    
  
She gasped, a particularly strong pulse of energy sending trills through her body. She could feel her unchecked inner muscles contracting, pulling, eager for something to grip. Ciri forced her eyes open, her fingers curling into the thick blanket she was lying on. Avallac’h knelt not far from her, watching her attentively, the firelight casting deep shadows across his sharp features. One hand was raised, palm forward - the culprit of the ceaseless pleasure currently washing over her, so persistent it was almost maddening.    
  
“Avallac’h--,” she breathed his name pleadingly, hesitant to ask for what she truly wanted, but unable to keep silent any longer.    
  
“I’m here, Zireael,” he murmured calmly, his low voice resonating with the energy emanating from his hand.    
  
“I...I want--,” she twisted sharply, her back arching as a particularly powerful pulse of magic raced through her.    
  
“What do you want?” His voice remained calm, but she was certain she sensed a hint of genuine curiosity in his question.    
  
“I want to feel you.  _ You _ , the real you, not just your magic,” she gasped, forcing out the words through ragged breaths.    
  
The waves of pleasure receded. Ciri pushed herself up onto her elbows and glanced hesitantly towards him, afraid that this meant she had gone to far and their exercises were over. But if he was angry or repulsed by her suggestion, he did not show it. If anything, he looked intrigued, though he remained knelt beside her, motionless, as though struggling with the decision. Ciri opted to help him. She waited patiently to catch his attention, and when at last his gaze met hers, she watched him through eyelids half-lowered with desire.    
  
“Please, Avallac’h?”   
  
To her delight, her words had the effect she intended. Without further hesitation, he re-positioned himself at her feet and began to deftly remove her boots. She assisted him as best she could from her position and eagerly lifted her hips as he seized her breeches and remove them as well. Beneath her waist, all that remained was her smallclothes, a thin, sheer fabric that clung to her hips. Ciri tilted her knees apart and displayed herself, a clear and encouraging invitation. He reached his hand forward slowly, his expression unchanged, impassive unreadable. But his touch, as he rubbed her firmly through her smallclothes, was resolute and purposeful.  _ And surprisingly skilled _ , she mused, her lips parting in a silent gasp.  _ I wonder if the real Avallac’h shares these talents _ .    
  
She quickly dispersed the thought, uncertain what it might have on the integrity of the dream, and focused instead on the steadily-mounting pressure between her thighs. Ciri moaned helplessly, the persistent pattern of his fingers combined with the strange, pleasant vibration that his touch always emitted driving her closer and closer to the release she craved - yet it still was not enough. She craftily attempted to shift her hips so that his fingers would slide around the thin material, but he quickly caught on to her and paused. She immediately began to protest, her eyes snapping open in disappointment, but what she saw quickly silenced her. He had slid his legs back and was now lying on his stomach, bracing his weight on his forearms. His hands gripped her hips, squeezing gently, his fingers snagging around the edges of her smallclothes. With her enthusiastic help, he pulled them down enough to reveal her, warm and slick with readiness. He paused, his lips just inches from her soft skin, and looked into her eyes.    
  
“Would it surprise you, Zireael, to know that I’ve dreamt of your taste many times?”   
  
His pale gaze, intense and earnest, made her heart beat faster.    
  
“Avallac’h--ah!”   
  
He did not wait for her response. He pressed his tongue into her firmly, working her as adeptly as his fingers had just minutes ago. If his fingers gave off a pleasant vibration, his tongue and lips only seemed to amplify the sensation. The effect was dizzying. Ciri panted and moaned, her hips struggling against him as he patiently followed her body’s cues and silent commands, drawing out wave after wave of pleasure. She felt wonderfully overwhelmed, totally encapsulated in an inescapable pleasure that could not be surpassed. As if able to hear her thoughts, Avallac’h focused his tongue at the crest of her soft lips and slipped a finger within her, commanding a pulse of magic that filled her. The combined sensations pushed her suddenly and definitively over the edge. A hungry moan turned into a scream of pure pleasure. She drove her back against the ground, her fingers curled into the furs beneath her, and Ciri let herself go, their combined energies making her legs tremble with the force of her climax.    
  
The sheer power of the ecstasy she felt seemed to crack through the dream, shattering it at the edges. Darkness rushed in, erasing all, then receded. Consciousness took its place. 


	4. Interconnected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ciri's POV

Ciri gasped and jolted upright, propelled into wakefulness by the climax of the dream, only to fall back helplessly into her furs from the sudden shock of pain that burst behind her eyes. She hissed at the intensity of it and pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose, trying to collect her thoughts.  _ Another dream. This is getting annoying.  _ Some part of it had ebbed into the present, however, for her skin still buzzed with a remnant of that strange energy. It was the energy that allowed her to travel through worlds, the energy Avallac’h had channeled through her to cut down the beast, and the same energy he had used to make her twist and writhe while she slept. Only, those were dreams, and everything within them could only be contributed to her own imagination.   
  
She groaned quietly and dared to crack open her eyes. The firelight only worsened the pain in her head, but she did her best to ignore it and glanced across the fire. Avallac’h was seated in a meditative pose upon his own bed. His eyes were closed, but Ciri got the distinct impression that he was aware of everything she was doing.    
  
“Avallac’h?” She rasped, barely able to speak for the dryness of her throat.    
  
“I am here, Zireael.”   
  
She tried to sit up again, this time with more success. The pain in her head remained, but the sharpness of it was receding, her thoughts clearing. She remembered the creature, the fight, remembered how she felt just before passing out. Her shoulders stiffened.   
  
“Kelpie! Where is she?”   
  
“Here, and safe,” Avallac’h’s pale aquamarine eyes opened and fixed on hers. “There is water beside you. Drink. Are you hungry?”   
  
“Gods, yes.”    
  
She felt as though she was starving, in fact. She felt empty of many things, hollow, like a gaping wound was left in the wake of the energy no longer running through her. Taking Avallac’h’s advice, Ciri scooped up the flask of water he had left for her and drank greedily and deeply. When felt satiated and had nearly drained the flask, she paused to gasp for breath and cast a glance towards the edge of the camp where Kelpie preferred to graze. The mare was present, barely visible in the firelight, but revealed by the shine of her coat and the glint of her eyes. Now that she focused, Ciri could hear her snuffling in the grass. She could not help but smile with relief, and she returned her gaze to her quiet companion. Avallac’h had unfolded himself from where he had sat and was now busily gutting a couple of fresh-looking fish, the sleeves of his shirt pushed up to his elbows to avoid soiling them, only a hint of disdain wrinkling the corner of his nose.    
  
“You must be getting tired of having to carry me back to camp,” she laughed apologetically.    
  
Avallac’h paused in his work and met her gaze. He looked confused, perhaps even surprised.   
  
“Not at all. I am happy to assist you, whenever you require.”   
  
“Thank you, Avallac’h, for everything.”   
  
If he seemed surprised before, he appeared to be stunned by what she had said and the soft tone of her voice. The knife in his hand glinted in the firelight, held motionless in the air as he absorbed her words.  _ I’m not certain I’ve ever thanked him before _ , she reflected.  _ At least, not sincerely.  _ She held his gaze for a long moment until at last he looked away, resuming his work with a brisk nod of his head and a soft clearing of his throat. It was an awkward gesture. Had she truly managed to make him, the unshakable  _ Aen Saevherne,  _ nervous? She sat in silence while he finished preparing the fish and placed them over the fire to cook. It was dark, she noted, but the moon was already far across the sky.   
  
“How long was I asleep?”   
  
“For the remainder of the day and most of the night. It will be dawn soon.”   
  
“Why do I feel so awful?”   
  
“That is my fault, regrettably,” Avallac’h frowned slightly. “The power I focused through you to overcome that creature, it was too much. I intended to teach you that very same technique, but slowly and over time. I never meant for you to experience it all at once and in such a dire circumstance. It was risky, needlessly so. I apologize.”   
  
“No need,” Ciri grimaced and sat up all the way, painstakingly crossing her stiff legs before her. “I don’t think we had much choice.”   
  
“We have yet to meet any people in this world, but that does not mean there are not many dangers. A detail I hadn’t considered seriously until we encountered that creature.”   
  
Ciri frowned, understanding the unspoken request behind his words.    
  
“I can’t sit here all day doing nothing,” she grumbled defensively. “When I awoke yesterday, you were gone. So I went to look around, to find something to do. It may not bother  _ you _ to be alone so often, to spend so much time in your own thoughts, but you and I are different. I get…,” Ciri frowned down at her hands, fidgeting awkwardly in her lap. She spat the words out begrudgingly. “I get lonely. Gods, I get  _ bored _ . And I know you’d prefer to be back at  Tir ná Lia, I know you’d prefer to be in the company of other Aen Elle, but I’m all you have here. And you’re all I have as well. So whatever we do, it ought to be together.”   
  
She could not look at him, refused to look at him. She felt ashamed to admit her dependency on him, circumstantial as it was. No doubt he would think her weak, think less of her, but Ciri saw no point in continuing to hide how she felt. With nowhere to run to where they would not be immediately found by the Hunt, their stay in this world seemed indefinite. They sat in silence for a long moment. She shifted uncomfortably and was about to utter some poorly-contrived excuse to leave when he broke the silence.    
  
“You ‘know’ I’d prefer to be elsewhere, to be home and amongst my own kind,” his voice was soft and low. It reminded her, she realized with a start, of how he had spoken to her in her dream. “In truth, I enjoy your company, Zireael. A great deal, in fact. But I cannot deny that I am distracted by thoughts of my people. The longer I am away from Tir ná Lia, the more suspect I become, and with no one’s word but Eredin’s being whispered into their ears, well - Eredin is nothing if not persuasive. And what’s more, he is a celebrated warrior, a hero in our people’s eyes. While I am Aen Saevherne, an uninteresting mystery to most and an inherent villain to some.”    
  
Avallac’h grew stern, his brow furrowing with worry. Ciri thought of Eredin, his words to her after he had chased her down the hill in that other world. How gentle his voice had become, how vulnerable he had seemed just before she denied him, before his mask had fallen and revealed the contempt lurking just beneath the surface. There was no doubting Eredin’s charisma, his ability to hide his true self. If he had managed to nearly convince her, a filthy  _ dh’oine  _ he cared nothing for, Ciri could only imagine how easily he would turn fellow Aen Elle to his cause and against Avallac’h.    
  
Ciri shivered, a cool night breeze raising goosebumps along her arms. After a moment’s hesitation, she took a risk and rose from where she sat, circled their modest, crackling fire, and lowered herself beside Avallac’h at the edge of his bedding. Without asking permission, she selected one of his furs and draped it over her shoulders, contentedly settling into its comforting warmth. Clearing her throat softly, she took an even greater risk and reached out a tentative hand, and placed it awkwardly on his own, her touch as light and as flighty as a bird sensing a nearby predator.   
  
“It’ll be alright," she stated, with no idea if her words were true. “We’ll figure out a way to stop him. And the Hunt.”    
  
His hand remained motionless. All of him did. Ciri wondered, for a moment, if he was holding his breath. At last, his reservations seemed to pass, and he slowly turned his hand over so that his palm pressed against hers. She nearly jumped at the sensation. It was there immediately, that tingling rush of energy that was becoming more familiar, more welcome, each time she felt it. His thumb ran along her palm, gently, soothingly, the touch leaving an electric warmth in its wake. She could feel herself opening to it, the emptiness she had felt since waking intensifying into a honed and pointed need. Flashes of her dreams pushed into her thoughts, and she longed to know how it would feel if he actually touched her that way.    
  
He withdrew his hand. She immediately felt foolish, even embarrassed at the recklessness of her thoughts. Ciri withdrew her own arm and pulled the fur tighter around herself, not daring to wonder if he had sensed her thoughts as she knew he often could, or if he felt any of what she had felt in those few moments.    
  
“I fear the Hunt and Eredin are the least of our concerns,” he mused darkly, carefully removing the smoking fish from the fire. “They are a byproduct of a far greater threat.”   
_  
“Tedd Deireadh.” _ The air itself seemed to cool as she spoke the words. “The White Frost.”   
  
Avallac’h nodded grimly.   
  
“Can you feel it, Zireael? The threat of it festers even here, in this hidden world. An end to all things. To life itself.”   
  
He placed the fish before her, along with a small plate of roasted tubers she had not noticed before. She cast him a grateful smile and helped herself, knowing full well by now that he was not likely to join her. The hot fish warmed her, the taste of food returning her strength, and with it a refreshed optimism.    
  
“We’ll stop it, too, Avallac’h,” she promised boldly, which earned her one of his elusive near-smiles. Neither of them could know if her words were truthful, but neither of them cared. It brought some relief to both of them to hear them spoken aloud.    
  
By the time she had finished eating, long streaks of early sunlight were already threatening to pierce through the darkness of the unbroken sky. Ciri got up to stretch, reveling in her restored energy. Avallac’h seemed lost in thought, not an uncommon state for him, and she contented herself with running through a few sword drills. She could almost hear Vesemir’s scolding, his barking feedback as she slipped from stance to stance, moved from step to step, a sharp contrast to Geralt’s quiet praise and recommendations, which he always saved until after she had finished. The memory of his words, the kindness of his eyes in his otherwise gruff face as he spoke them, made her smile.

_ “Cirilla.” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ She knew she was in trouble. But gods, she hated when he called her that.  _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “Yes, Uncle Vesemir?”  _ _   
_ _   
_ _ He grimaced down at her, the expression deepening the lines of his face. His arms were crossed sternly over his chest.  _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “Nevermind the puppy eyes, young lady, you know full well you’re late.” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “But I was in the yard practising!” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ It was only a partial lie. Ciri  _ had _ been practising. But in truth, she had been passing the time, waiting. Vesemir had received a letter from him just a week ago. Today was the day he was due to arrive home.  _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “Swordwork is important, but good will it do you if you lack the knowledge you need to fight your foe? A witcher’s work is never blind. A witcher must recognize and know her opponent. Or she’ll soon end up a steaming pile of guts.” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Ciri wrinkled her nose in disgust. Vesemir nodded grimly in response. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “Now sit down and start reading. Chapter twelve. The mating behaviors of wild endrega.”  _ _   
_ _   
_ _ She sighed in exasperation, “Uncle Vesmir, why do I care about the ‘mating behaviors’ of giant  _ bugs _?” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “Because, child, knowing the difference between those behaviors will tell you whether you’ll be able to pass through the area without worry or whether entering the area will result in you being pinned down and slowly eviscerated alive! Care or not, that’s your choice. But if you’re smart, you’ll read, and you’ll pay attention to what you read.” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Her shoulders slumped in defeat, and she plopped down before the heavy, leather bound tome. She pulled back its dusty cover and turned to the correct spot. Her eyes roved over the pages, absorbing as much as they were able, but the sounds of birdsong and the rays of sunlight pouring in through the narrow windows of Kaer Morhen’s stony walls soon rekindled her restlessness. Vesemir had vanished, and she was alone. She closed the tome. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Her feet were swift, her limbs spry and powerful. She raced across the courtyard, vaulted over the gap in the wall that Lambert was due to repair. She tore through the trees like the wind itself, pushing onward and upward, up the hill and out of the trees to the rocky overlook she had spent most of the past few days sitting on, waiting. But now, her wait was over.  _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Ciri could scarcely believe her eyes. She blinked hard to clear her vision, her eyes watery from the wind.  _ It’s him _. She could not suppress the smile that burst across her face, did not try to. She leapt up in the air and waved her hands above her head with a whoop of joy. _

“White Wolf!”   
  
_ His face was already turned towards her, his steely countenance softened by a grin. He raised his hand in greeting and urged Roach onward. Ciri tore away from the cliff’s edge, back down the hill, down and around to the path below. He was already there, waiting for her.  _ _   
_ _   
_ “Geralt!”  _ She leapt into his arms, threw her own arms around him. He smelled of smoke and leather and dirt and gore. The chain of his armor was cold and rough against her face. She smiled. “Welcome home.” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ But when she opened her eyes, the arms around her were unfamiliar and Geralt was gone. Her stomach sunk, and a cold wave of panic raced through her, flooding her veins with adrenaline. Eredin stood in his place, his pale green eyes burning like sickly flames in his gaunt face. His lips curled into a slow, victorious smile. She tried to turn away, to flee, but he held her in place.  _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “It’s been some time, sweet Swallow, but I’ve found you. At last,” his fingers brushed along the line of her jaw. His other hand clutched the curve of her waist. “Stay with me.” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Ciri tore herself away with a pained cry born of fear, anger, and revulsion. Her heart, racing in her chest, felt on the verge of ripping itself from her body. _   
  


The vision shattered, jolting her immediately back into the present. For a moment, Ciri could not recall where she was or what she had been doing before the memory had taken hold. But it was no memory. What she had seen had never taken place. Ciri lowered her sword, still raised in the air in a battle-stance. She looked about. All is as it had been. Kelpie was roaming just outside the camp’s perimeter, snuffling happily into the grass. The fire was crackling, lowered to a humble flame due to lack of attention. Avallac’h was knelt on the ground methodically packing a travel bag, his pale eyes still preoccupied and unfocused with distant thought. No trace of Eredin or the Hunt or anything out of the ordinary could be found.    
  
_ Yet it seemed so real. _ _   
_ _   
_ She sheathed her sword, immediately deciding not to mention what she had seen to Avallac’h, not until she had time to consider what it could mean, if anything. Her dreams, the energy she had recently tapped into, this vision.  _ Not likely a coincidence.  _ A creeping discomfort worked through her as Ciri reflected on the possibilities, few of them pleasant. She sheathed her sword, her mouth set in a grim line, and returned to the embry remnants of their fire.   
  
“You’re leaving?”   
  
“I am.”   
  
“And I’m to stay here, I presume? To sit still and grow bored and watch moss grow?”   
  
“If that is your wish,” Avallac’h continued, his demeanor as smooth and unfazed by her brusqueness as ever.    
  
“And if it’s not?”   
  
He stopped his packing and lifted his gaze to meet hers.   
  
“Then join me. As you correctly stated, we have only each other’s company here. It is far safer, and far more enjoyable, to explore together. Furthermore, you possess a tremendous gift, tremendous power. You’ve felt it, now, glimpsed its vastness. I would be a fool not to assist you in using it, growing it.” His gaze burned into hers with an intensity that, even for him, surprised her. “It is, after all,  _ your  _ destiny, O Swallow.”   
  
Ciri was acutely aware of the racing of her heart within her chest. There was something new and bold in the way that he was looking at her, something that again echoed the dreams that had plagued her in recent nights. When they had first met years ago, his attitude towards her had been cold and formal, like that of a begrudging mentor or an unwilling guardian. He had instructed her and tolerated her with a stubborn rigidity that, to her, had clearly illustrated his disdain towards her and the entirety of her species. He had despised her then, seen her only as a means to an end, a tool to be used to secure the future of his people, to reclaim a power that had been lost. But how he looked at her now - there was a fascination in his eyes, an appreciation, recognition and respect. Perhaps more.  _ But is it sincere?  _ Ciri nodded once in response to his words, uncertain of what her voice might betray.    
  
“I shall wait until you are ready,” Avallac’h resumed organizing his belongings, releasing her from his piercing gaze and the tension that it held her in.   
  
She quickly gathered the few things that she needed: her belt, her sword, her knife, a small pouch of salves for wounds, and some dried fruit and meat. After a moment’s consideration, she whistled sharply. Kelpie’s ears flicked around, and after a final nibble of foliage, the mare trotted amicably across the camp. Knickering softly, the mare butted Ciri’s shoulder softly with her snout.   
  
“Spoiled,” she chuckled, plucking a small piece of dried fruit from her satchel. Kelpie accepted the offering, and Ciri patted the mare’s neck affectionately. Taking her lead, Ciri walked the mare to Avallac’h, who had finished his preparations and stood at the edge of their camp, pensively surveying the landscape before him. “We could travel much further on horse, but we’d have to ride together.”    
  
He turned to her, the thoughts possessing him receding enough to draw him back to the present, and surveyed Kelpie with a faint frown.

  
“She and I may have spent some time together recently, but I do not think it is likely Kelpie will permit me to ride her.”   
  


The mare knickered menacingly, switching her tail. Ciri grinned broadly and sprung into the saddle, deftly sliding into place.   
  
“She will if I lead.”  
  
Avallac’h tilted his head, uncertain. Ciri shook her head and chuckled.  
  
“Come, Avallac’h, are you afraid?” Her emerald eyes danced with a dare. “Or don’t you trust me?”  
  
His brow furrowed at her challenge, an unreadable look flitting across his face. Whatever his thoughts, her goading appeared to work, for he stepped forward and carefully mounted behind her, his robes rustling as he settled into place. For a long moment, he sat stiffly, uncertain. Then, quite slowly, he placed his hands on her waist, lightly gripping her for support. Ciri felt a thrill run through her at the press of his fingers through her clothes, and she became acutely aware of how much of his body touched hers. There was no denying it - the sensation excited her. But what did he feel, if anything? Was his hesitance a sign of disdain, or nervousness?   
  
“ _Kyah!”_ Ciri nudged Kelpie sharply, and they sprung forward into sudden motion. Avallac’h’s arms wrapped around her, their bodies pressing together even more snugly as they gained speed. The scene around them began to lose detail, blurring and twisting as Kelpie dashed over the earth. “ _Where to?”_ Ciri turned her head slightly and shouted against the rushing of the wind.  
  
“ _Towards the cliffs!_ _I know a path that leads down to the sea._ ”  
  
Ciri leaned forward and shifted her weight, and Kelpie responded instantly, turning them in the direction Avallac’h had indicated. Surprised at the turn, Avallac’h clutched her more tightly still, his body rigid, his fingers curling into her tunic. He was nervous. Ciri laughed into the wind, a wild, careless cry that made Kelpie’s hooves fly even faster.  
  
“ _Relax, Avallac’h! Enjoy it!_ ”  
  
He did not respond - or if he did, she could not hear him - but his fingers loosened ever so slightly, and they rode on. With Kelpie’s enthusiasm and Avallac’h’s guidance, they reached their destination with haste. As promised, Avallac’h directed them to a rather hidden path that allowed them to carefully descend from the sweeping plains near their camp to the coastline. They took the path slowly, a strategy that Avallac’h seemed to appreciate, picking their way down amongst the rocks. The path would have been challenging and dangerous on foot, but Kelpie carried them fearlessly, and they soon trotted across a thin ribbon of beach covered in fine sand that seemed faintly blue in hue. An ocean stretched before them, calm and turquoise and beautiful. The waves that lapped the shore were small and peaceful, and the air smelled of salt. Behind them, at the base of the cliffs, a swath of grass and vegetation stretched forward and crept surprisingly close towards the sea.   
  
“Let’s dismount here,” Avallac’h’s deep voice urged gently, surprisingly close to her ear. “We can walk together.”  
  
Ciri swallowed the sudden lump in her throat, ashamed at how keenly she felt his hands drift down along her waist towards her hips before releasing her, at how she had enjoyed his closeness. He dismounted and, to her genuine astonishment, offered his arms to help her down. She stared at him quizzically, long enough for him to recognize her confusion, and she was certain she caught a faint blush warming his face and the pointed tips of his ears. Before he could change his mind, she slipped down from the saddle and into his arms. He caught her firmly, if unnecessarily, for she landed lightly on her feet.  
  
“Thank you,” she murmured, flashing him a small smile.  
  
He looked as if he wished to speak, and gods, she wished he would. Instead, he simply held her for a moment in silence, his eyes locked with hers, then succinctly nodded and let her go. He moved towards the sea, looking about in that way that made her suspect that he viewed the world around him quite differently. Perhaps it was because he was an Aen Saevherne, perhaps it was simply his way, but she had seen it many times before. He could see and sense things that she could not, and it intrigued her.   
  
“What is it?” She stood by his side, tracing his gaze.  
  
“Can you sense it, Zireael? I know you can. Listen, feel.”  
  
She did as he instructed, knowing immediately what he meant. Ciri focused, concentrating on that feeling that was becoming ever familiar to her. The feeling in her dreams, the feeling that sustained her through the fight with the beast, the feeling that seemed to permeate this world, an underlying pulse that ran beneath the earth, through the trees, in the very wind. Avallac’h drew his staff from across his back and, in a swift motion, drove the end into the sand. Slowly, but persistently, a current of teal light crept up along it, drawing upwards from the ground and travelling along the length of the staff. The light gathered at the top of the staff and seemed to pool there, emitting a soft blue-green glow.   
  
“It’s Source,” she whispered. “It’s everywhere.”  
  
Avallac’h nodded, his eyes locked on the pool of light that danced and flickered at the top of his staff. “In your world, Source collects in nodes that can be discovered and harnessed. It is the same in mine. Here, it would seem Source flows freely, through everything.”  
  
Ciri reflected on her lessons with Yennefer, her brow furrowing in confusion. “I know the nodes you speak of, but I thought Source flowed through everything in my world, from node to node.”  
  
“It does, but to a lesser degree,” he glanced at her. “Because Source pools in nodes in our worlds, it takes longer to channel Source from the nearest node, and the power one can draw forth is diminished. In a world such as this, one should be able to draw an immense amount of Source from almost anywhere. At least, in theory...”  
  
He trailed off, his gaze returning to the concentration of Source before him. Avallac’h extended his hand slowly, and the swirling light immediately jolted forward towards his fingertips. He turned his fingers, directing the current towards a small plant several feet away from where they stood. The current rushed forward, bathing the plant in a murky teal. However, the current did not stop at the plant - instead, it rapidly webbed out in a complex net, jumping from plant to bush to tree until a whole swath of foliage was vibrantly illuminated. Humming with fascination, Avallac’h turned to her.  
  
“May I?”  
  
She studied him warily, uncertain of whether or not she wished to be a part of his experiment. After a moment, Ciri nodded, and Avallac’h carefully redirected the current towards her. The Source that hit her felt smooth and low, a pleasant buzzing that ran along her skin from head to toe. She lifted her hands to study them - they radiated with light. Ciri glanced down, and her breath caught in her throat. Beneath her feet, a pool of blue-green stretched out across the sand in every direction, lighting up the sand. She stepped forward, and the light moved with her, each footstep leaving a concentration of light in its wake. Ciri moved towards the sea, the buzzing in her skin growing stronger with each moment that passed until it was all that she felt. Her physical body faded, and the air crackled and burst around her as she stepped into the water. She could not feel the cold, did not notice the rushing tug of the tide. All she felt was the power around her, the power within, one and the same, infinitesimal and infinite, stretching forward from her - from her core, from her blood, from the Blood of her ancestors - endlessly.  
  
Ciri turned towards the shore. She saw Avallac’h, and there was no mistaking the expression of unbridled awe that he regarded her with. The sea around her churned and swelled, ablaze with teal light. His eyes locked with hers, unblinking, and she smiled, laughed a faint, breathless laugh. The wind whisked about her, and it whispered and sang but one phrase:  
  
 _Child of the Elder Blood._  
  
Ciri closed her eyes and relaxed her hands which had formed into fists, relinquishing herself completely. An intoxicating mix of pleasure and pain raced through her and held her. Before her flashed everything that had been and was yet to be. She saw the ancient elves, Lara Dorren, and a mage, a human mage, at her side. She saw Cintra, the flames, the blood and the Nilfgaardian sun. She saw Geralt, Kaer Morhen, the sweat of the fight, and the eyes of the wolf. She saw Eredin upon his knees, his helmet cracked and broken at his side. She saw the White Frost, felt it swirling and storming around her, and she stared into it, down to its center. The sensation coursing through her built and built until it broke, and she cried out, letting go of it all, letting it run outwards from her until it was no more.   
  
When she opened her eyes, the world around her was masked in a murky blur. She blinked hard. Avallac’h stood before her, or rather, with her. Ciri became aware of her body, which felt limp and weak and strangely unfamiliar. He was holding her, his arms wrapped around her.   
  
“Avallac’h?” She inquired weakly, barely able to form the word.  
  
“I am here, Zireael,” he murmured. His fingers brushed a tendril of her hair back from her face. His touch was cool and soothing, a sharp contrast to the fever that rushed through her. His head was inclined towards her, his face close to hers.   
  
She had never dared to look at him as closely as she did now, to see him as clearly. For so long, she had shied away from it, for she had feared what she knew she might find. As she studied him - his golden hair, ablaze in the sunlight, the fine lines of his skin, subtle hints of the centuries he had seen that she would never know, the brilliance and inescapable intensity of his pale eyes - Ciri felt it rise within her, clutching deep within her chest. It was a recognizable feeling, familiar, for it had been with her for awhile now, patiently waiting for its time.   
  
Ciri cared for him She longed to be close to him, to know him, for he was both a stranger and her friend, perhaps the last one she had.  
  
“Avallac’h,” she breathed his name, her fingers tracing a gentle path along his face. She lifted herself closer to him, and when he did not draw away, Ciri pressed her lips to his.   
  
The kiss was slow and soft and shy. As soon as they touched, she could feel Avallac’h grow tense with indecision. Yet, he did not pull away. Instead, he deepened the kiss, his fingers curling gently into her hair. As they kissed, she knew at last that he felt it too - that his heart raced within his chest just as hers did, that the confusion and uncertainty she had seen in his eyes these past few days was no illusion. She pressed herself to him, revelling in the sweetness of his taste, until at last their lips parted. She could not know what he felt or what the moment meant to him, but Ciri sought no answer. What they had shared was enough.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always been taken with the idea that the events of TW3 and Eredin's curse aged Avallac'h's physical body considerably, hence a slightly more youthful-looking Avallac'h here.


	5. Through the Cracks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While still recovering, Ciri and Avallac'h are pursued by a familiar enemy. Ciri learns a dark truth about Avallac'h's relationship with Lara Dorren.

Ciri drew away, pressing the soles of her feet into the sand. The sunlight stung her eyes, and her skin felt raw. Inside, she felt cold, drained - no trace of the power that had rushed through her just minutes before remained. She breathed in deeply and exhaled a long, shuddering sigh.   
  
“Are you able to stand?” He murmured, his arms still close around her.   
  
“Yes,” she rasped, “I think so. I’m so tired.”   
  
Avallac’h nodded and held her in place.    
  
“We should return to camp,” she murmured, taking a definitive step forward. Her legs buckled beneath her as though she had not used them in years. Ciri was grateful for the arms that steadied her.    
  
“We should sit and rest,” Avallac’h countered gently, urging her to the ground.    
  
She did as he suggested and allowed him to draw her down. She collapsed roughly in the sand, thoroughly exhausted, and closed her eyes. A sudden fear washed over her, a fear that she would open her eyes and find herself alone.    
  
“Avallac’h...stay with me,” she whispered, the urgency that she felt muted by the deep fatigue that sapped her strength by the second.    
  
She felt his presence beside her, felt his hand closed gently around her own. His voice was so quiet, so distant, as though reaching her from another world.    
  
“Always, Zireael.”   
  


* * *

  
The beating of the war drums thudded in her head, in her bones, in her very being. The chilling cries of the warriors around her rose and fell in an unnerving rhythm, a song that marked another successful raid. Success, she knew, simply meant slaughter. Other than the sounds of the Hunt, the village around them was silent - not a single soul remained alive. But there were bodies, so many bodies. Children, women, and men alike. They lay in the snow, face-down, blood pooling in growing halos around them.    
  
The smoke stung her eyes and nose. She turned in a slow circle, trying to figure out where they were, but there were no signs, no indication - it was another anonymous village, another handful of senseless deaths, and it would not be the last time. No, there were many more deaths to come, she knew.   
  
“Zireael.”   
  
She turned at the sound of her name, the familiar voice sending chills down her arms and spine. He stood in the center of them all, his armor glistening with blood, his helmet removed revealing his gaunt, emotionless face. Her eyes flicked to his sword, which was driven into the back of a fallen man whose face she did not recognize. The blade glinted fiercely, the metal dark with gore.    
  
“Eredin. Why are you doing this?”   
  
“It is time, Zireael.  _ Tedd Deireadh  _ descends upon us all, yet you continue to play and hide with your traitor, Avallac’h.” He extended his armored hand, gesturing for her. “Come.”   
  
“No,” she whispered hoarsely, taking a step backwards, her muscles tensing for flight.   
  
“More will die, many more. And they will continue to die until you do what you must. Put your selfishness aside, O’ Swallow, and join me.”   
  
“I can stop it. I  _ will  _ stop it. You don’t need to do this. Please.”   
  
His cold expression hardened, his lips curling into a sneer of disdain. He stepped forward, his heavy boots crunching through the snow.    
  
“You are a  _ vessel _ ,” he hissed, “nothing more. A vessel that cannot begin to guess at the power it contains. You flit around like a child, making light of the gift that could end the suffering of many. And  _ he _ sits by, doing nothing. ”   
  
Eredin stepped closer, perilously close, towering over her. He had no sword, but that mattered little. He could kill her easily if he wished to. But he would not, could not afford to, they both knew. His green eyes glistened with covetous violence, his jaw flexed with thinly-concealed fury. His breath was visible in the deadly cold that seemed to deepen as he drew closer.   
  
“Avallac’h is helping me, training me. He is teaching me to use my power so that I can  _ stop  _ this!” Ciri could hear the plea in her voice, feel the sting of tears in her eyes, but nothing changed in his venomous gaze. “Eredin, you are making a mistake! We should be working together. Just give me some time, and I can help you-”   
  
“ _ The choice is not yours to make! _ ”   
  
He lunged for her, and she twisted, just dodging his grasp. Ciri turned on her heel to flee, her muscles flexing, only to stumble haltingly to her knees. Her lips parted soundlessly, all breath leaving her lungs, at the sight before her.    
  
“ _ Geralt.” _   
  
He sat upon a black horse, its side painted with blood in a grisly, skeletal design. He wore strange armor,  _ their  _ armor, and it, too, was spattered with blood. As she knelt before him, his eyes locked with hers, but they were empty, sightless, emotionless. If he could see her, he did not recognize her. Beside him, another mounted figure sat, her long, raven hair falling free in dark curls about her shoulders. Her violet eyes were as empty as his yellow ones. Between them stood yet another figure that she recognized - Eredin’s masked mage, as silent and as threatening as a wraith. Ciri could just make out the ominous glint of his eyes behind his helmet. All three stood watching her, awaiting Eredin’s command.   
  
“No,” Ciri whispered, unable to formulate any thought other than one, “no, no. This isn’t possible, it can’t be. I’m dreaming.”   
  
“Dreams are far more intricate than simple tricks of the sleeping imagination, O’ Swallow,” the metal of his gauntlets dug into her skin as his fingers closed about her shoulder. “Or hasn’t dear Avallac’h taught you that, yet? Trust what your eyes tell you, what your heart feels.”   
  
Tears of pain and fury poured down her face. She pressed her palms into the snow, willing herself to wake, to be anywhere but here, but nothing changed. Her vision blurred, and she cried out with rage as Eredin dragged her to her feet.    
  
“ _ Let them go _ ! Let them go, and I will go with you!”   
  
He turned her towards him and gripped her close, his hand running along her cheek. His face was inches from her own, his lips curved in a victorious smile. His hand ran along her waist to her hip, clutching her cruelly. Ciri turned her face from his, but he gripped her jaw and forced her to look at him.    
  
“Do you see, O’ Swallow? How simple all becomes when you succumb to your destiny?”   
  
Ciri struggled in his grasp, her fury turning to fear and at last to despair as she recognized what remained for her. There was nowhere to run, nothing she could do but give in. She closed her eyes, letting go of any lingering hope, and drew in a slow, shuddering breath.   
  
“Please, will you let them go?”   
  
She looked to him pleadingly. Eredin studied her curiously, but whatever his thoughts, he kept them to himself. Instead, he ran his thumb along the edge of her jaw and nodded. Behind him, the masked mage unfolded his arms from across his chest and reached for Geralt and Yennefer. The two dissipated instantly as if they had never been there at all, though Ciri could still feel their ghastly gazes upon her. She shuddered with relief, or perhaps from the biting cold. Eredin gestured to one of his warriors, and the elf returned with a fur-lined cloak, no doubt a relic pulled from the body of one of their victims. Eredin held it for her, and Ciri resigned to let him drape it over her shoulders, her stomach twisting with anger, shame, and disgust.    
  
“Where will they go?” She dared, drawing the cloak around her. “Yennefer and Geralt - what did he do with them?”   
  
Eredin clutched her arm, firmly but carefully, like a predator shepherding its prey, and led her to his waiting warhorse. He clutched her waist to lift her into the saddle, but she slipped out of his grasp, easily lifting herself into place. Her question still hung in the air, unanswered, and she looked to him expectantly. A slow, cruel smile stretched his lips, and Eredin mounted behind her, his arms forming a cage about her as he took the reins, ensuring she could not slip away. He leaned forward so that his lips were at her ear.   
  
“Trust me, Zireael.” He straightened in his saddle and called out to the Hunt, his voice booming above all else. “We return to Tir ná Lia!”   
  
Upon Eredin’s command, the mage struck his staff against the ground. The air crackled and hummed with electricity, and a golden, swirling portal erupted into existence a short distance away. Loose tendrils of hair whipped about her face as the portal breathed the air of this world into itself. As one, the Hunt began to ride through the portal, with Eredin and the mage bringing up the rear. As they rode towards the portal, Ciri’s stomach sank within her, a sensation of boundless dread dulling every other sense. Once in Tir ná Lia, there was no escape, she knew. The mage would shackle and bind her in every way he knew how, and she would never leave. She pressed herself back against Eredin, urging herself to somehow stop the inevitable, but her thoughts turned to Geralt, to Yennfer, to the prospect of their freedom, and she could only let herself be taken. She envisioned their faces, not how they had been tonight, but how they truly were, how she remembered them.  _ I love you, always _ . The portal yawned before them, the crackling heat of its energy warming her face. Ciri closed her eyes and waited to cross through to the elven world she remembered all too well, to her prison.   
  
But the portal crackled and sputtered violently before they could enter it, its golden light suddenly erupting with tendrils of vibrant blue-green. Eredin cursed, his arm closing more tightly about her waist. The portal crackled and flared suddenly, and the violence of the magical reaction startled their mount. The horse reared sharply, throwing them both from the saddle. Ciri caught herself awkwardly and scrambled away on hands and knees, scrabbling for her footing on the frozen ground. She could sense Eredin close behind her, and before she could regain her footing, he grabbed her by the arm and held her in place.    
  
“Fix it,” he spat furiously, gesturing towards the mage. “Fix the portal!”   
  
The mage, however, was not looking at Eredin. Instead, his gaze was focused on another figure that had emerged from the darkness behind them.    
  
“Let her go.”   
  
“Avallac’h,” Eredin hissed, his grip on her tightening. “I knew you would not be far behind. Anywhere she goes, you are sure to follow. You cannot help yourself, mesmerized as you are by your poor imitation of Lara.”   
  
Avallac’h turned his gaze to Eredin, to his fingers digging into the flesh of her arm, his pale eyes calm and impassive. He looked to her.   
  
“Run, Ciri.”   
  
Eredin clutched her, forcing her to turn towards him. His green eyes blazed with malice and, beneath that, fear.    
  
“Avallac’h is using you, as he has used countless others before you. Your own ancestor, the very source of your power, he used and manipulated until she could not stand the sight of him. Lara despised him, just as you should. She knew the truth behind his mask. Go with him, and you will only be a means to his end, that I promise you.”   
  
“And  _ you _ ?” Ciri retorted, her voice shaking with anger. Her skin danced with electricity, a teal glow rising from within her, magical energy shooting through her nervous system. “What am I to you if not the very same?  _ A means to your end!” _ _   
_ _   
_ She gripped his arm and twisted her body, pulling his hand with her. The magic gave her strength, and his arm wrenched into an impossible angle. The crack of tendons and bone, accompanied by his snarl of pain, were drowned out by the roar of another portal tearing into the fabric of the world just a few feet behind Avallac’h. Eredin released her, and she ran, surging forward with the combined force of her powerful muscles and the remnants of the magic that had swelled within her. She threw herself into the chaotic crackling of the portal, and the world behind her disappeared, consumed by a blinding flash of white, then darkness.   


* * *

  
Ciri jolted upright, her senses rushing back far too quickly for her exhausted body. Her head spun violently, and she immediately fell to her side, dry-heaving and gasping for breath. Her fingers pressed into the sand, which was soft and warm and blue-green in color. Realization flooded her mind, and her fingers formed fists, which she pressed into the ground. She laughed a slow, bitter laugh of incredulous anger.    
  
“A dream. Another fucking dream.”   
  
She turned and saw Avallac’h sitting up slowly from where he had been laying in the sand next to her. He looked first to her, then silently surveyed their whereabouts - for a moment, he looked nearly as perplexed as she felt.    
  
“Yes,” he hummed softly, pressing his fingers to his temple, “and no.”   
  
“What does that fucking mean?” She snapped, easing herself into a sitting position. Her body ached and throbbed, as did her head. She could still feel Eredin’s fingers digging into her arm, and she shuddered as the details of the dream pieced themselves together in her thoughts.    
  
“It was a dream, yes, but Eredin’s presence - and that of the Hunt - was real. It is magic. A more complex magic than I believed Caranthir possessed - he has been busy, it seems.”   
  
“The mage did all of this?” Ciri’s brow furrowed with concern. “Avallac’h, if he was able to find me in a dream, surely he can find us here.”   
  
“Not yet, but soon.”   
  
“How soon?”   
  
Avallac’h did not answer. Ciri thought through all she had just seen, and her heart began to race.   
  
“If Eredin and the Hunt were real, does that mean that Geralt and Yennefer were real, too? Were they truly there, a part of the Hunt?”   
  
“It would seem so.”   
  
“How is that possible, Avallac’h? They died. I was there with them when they-”   
  
Ciri fought to catch her breath, fought to stifle the tears that threatened to take her over.   
  
“There is no magic, ancient or new, that can truly bring back the dead,” Avallac’h mused, pushing himself into a sitting position and turning so that he faced her. “If Caranthir was able to bring them back, then they were never dead, not truly. Perhaps they were simply...somewhere else. And Caranthir was able to locate them and bring them to Eredin, to the Hunt.”   
  
“Then I have to find them!”   
  
Ciri rushed to stand but did not make it even to her feet before dizziness brought her stumbling back down to her knees. Avallac’h moved to help her, his hands hovering about her but not touching her. Furious and defeated, she slouched to the ground. Geralt and Yennefer were alive, and she had not known, had not searched for them or waited for them. She could not recall ever feeling more powerless.   
  
“If they are alive, I have to go to them. I have to be sure-”   
  
“In time, Zireael, but not now. Eredin showed them to you for a reason. He wishes for you to make a rash move, to make yourself seen, so that he can find you. You must think like he does in order to evade him. You must-”   
  
“-think like an Aen Elle?” She snapped. “It seems one is as cold and as calculating and as manipulative as the next. What did he mean, Avallac’h? What did Eredin mean when he said that Lara despised you, that you used her?”   
  
For a long time, Avallac’h said nothing. He simply watched her, and as he did, as he noted the anger and mistrust and disdain in her eyes, sadness filled his. He lowered his head, unable or unwilling to withstand her revulsion any longer.    
  
“I loved her, as you know. Lara Dorren. I adored her. I wished to be with her, always. It was the one dream I had that was truly my own,” he paused, his eyes unfocused, peering far off into distant memories. When he resumed, his voice was harder and matter-of-fact. “The Aen Elle are a dying race and have been for a long time. We suffer from an inability to reproduce efficiently enough to carry on our own species, largely due to a lack of genetic variety. To combat this, it has been a long-standing tradition amongst my people to - to select breeders amongst the population that carry desirable traits that should be passed on to future generations. I was selected as one such specimen when I was very young, a fate I attribute to my inclinations for magic. After all, our magic is an incredibly precious part of our history, and those responsible for guiding our future have always felt the same way.   
  
Lara was also selected. She was beautiful, she was clever, and she possessed a gift far greater than my own. We studied together often in our youth. My affection for her began early on and only developed over the years. As we grew older, I knew it was only a matter of time before we were paired off. It was our duty to mate with whomever we were told, whomever we were assigned, in order to capture the highest probability of reproductive success. Lara’s gift was always her intuition, her magic. She commanded it fearlessly and beautifully. It took me far longer to master those skills. So I instead turned my attention to my cunning and charisma.”   
  
Avallac’h paused, his jaw clenched. He lifted his gaze to hers, studying her thoughtfully.   
  
“I used my influence to convince those who mattered to pair me with Lara. At first, we were happy - I loved her, and she liked me well enough. We were close friends, she knew me and trusted me. It was a pleasant coincidence that we ended up together. Eventually, the illusion ended. She found out the truth, and she hated me for it.”   
  
He paused again, staring at her in silence. His pale eyes gleamed with sorrow, the most genuine look she had seen him wear since they had met years ago.   
  
“I never meant to use her, to abuse her trust. I only ever intended to dedicate my life to making her happy. But I was wrong. What I did was wrong. I destroyed her trust and earned her disdain, and she left. And but a few years later, she was murdered. I will forever wonder what would have happened to Lara if I had simply let fate play out, if I had let her be paired with whomever she was intended for. How different things could have been, for us all. But I made my choice, and what could have been will never be. Now, all I can do is try to make amends to my people for the loss I inflicted upon them by taking Lara away. Now, you are here, Zireael, the last fragment of Lara left in this existence, that and so much more. You are here, and I am with you - to guide you, to protect you as best I can, to try to finally be all that I should have been, until the end.”   
  
“Protect me,” Ciri repeated softly, the ghost of a laugh crossing her lips. “Is that what you are doing? Guiding me and protecting me?  _ ‘Until the end’ _ ? I couldn’t save your people by sleeping with your king, so now you ask for my life? Your goal is to train me up, teach me just enough to do what you need me to. What does that make me to you? You will never care for me – Lara’s cheap imitation – that much you’ve made very clear. So, what am I to you? Your tool, your weapon, your  _ sacrifice _ ? Enough.”

She rose to her feet, ignoring the dizziness that swept over her. 

“Zireael, please—“

“ _ Enough! _ ”

Ciri turned to him sharply, her jaw knotted with rage. She blinked back the tears in her eyes, refusing to allow him to see how much his words had hurt her. 

“Eredin was right. It kills me to say it.  _ Eredin _ is more honest than you are, Avallac’h. You are manipulative and selfish. You believe in me only to the extent that it suits you, and beyond that, you do not care for me at all.”

The air about her hummed with energy. She did not know where to go, where even to begin, but she knew she could not be here with him any longer. Her gaze grew distant, locking onto a distant time and place far away from this one.

“Ciri, please, you musn’t…,” Avallac’h surged to his feet, his hands outstretched towards her. His face was pale, his large eyes pleading. “Please, don’t go.”

Her eyes met with his one last time, “Geralt and Yennefer need me.”

“Ciri--!”

His fingers locked around nothing as her magic consumed her, carrying her far from that strange world on the edge of the Spiral. As the energy guided her, whisking her forward, backward, in every direction and in no direction, Ciri let herself feel her pain and fury honestly, acutely. She opened her mouth to cry out, but she had no mouth, no body. She was everything and nothing, the Lady of Time and Space, and no one at all. As the feeling took her, she saw their faces, Geralt and Yennefer, as she had seen them in the dream, as a part of the Hunt.

_ I have to find them _ .

A sudden, harrowing coldness overcame her, tearing through her down to her core. For a moment, Ciri thought the feeling was imagined, an accumulation of all of the fear, pain, and hopelessness that she felt taking her at last. It was not until she heard it, the horrible, metallic voice, a whisper in the chaos of the magic that swept around her. The coldness around her solidified, gripping her and settling deep within the pit of her stomach. It was a whisper, yet the words were chillingly clear. 

_ “Hen Ichaer…” _


	6. Homecoming

Ciri knew where she would land before her feet touched solid ground.   
  
It had been years since she had been here, but the spiraling towers and elaborate, intricate architecture were unforgettable. They should be beautiful, but they instead filled her with a deep, sinking dread.   
  
Her hand flew immediately to her sword at her waist. She unsheathed it and twisted into a pirouette in a single moment, hardening her stomach and flexing her hips to swing her sword in a powerful blow. Metal screeched against metal as Eredin parried her blow with his own blade. He lashed out at her with a vicious backhand, and she spun out of the way just in time. Regaining her balance, Ciri spun again, faster this time in the hopes of catching him off-guard. He was ready for her, and he danced out of the way with an agility that his looming stature did not readily suggest. Her blade whistled through empty air.   
  
Eredin lunged forward and brought down his sword in a savage cut. She parried, but he bore down hard, and she was forced to her knee. Gritting her teeth, Ciri mustered her strength and shoved his blade to the side, twisting in the other direction and springing to her feet. She ran just a few steps before the pain swept over her, halting her mid-stride and drawing an agonized cry of surprise from her lips.   
  
The masked mage stood before her, though he was no longer masked. His auburn hair and cold, grey eyes gleamed in the golden glow of the magic issuing from the crest of his staff, the magic that locked her in place. His lips were twisted in a grimace of bored indifference. 

“The chase is over, Swallow,” she could feel Eredin approaching behind her.

Ciri dug deep within herself, drawing forth whatever energy she had left in a last, desperate attempt. She twisted at the hip and swung her sword blindly. There was a terrible screech of metal upon metal as the tip of her blade drew a long slash across Eredin’s chestplate, but the blow was not enough to do more than catch him by surprise. Gnashing his teeth, he raised his sword and knocked hers aside violently. Wincing at the bolt of pain that shot up her arm, she let the hilt go, and her sword fell to the ground. She was defeated.

“Shackle her.”

The mage stepped forward and took her hand. Ciri twisted her shoulder in an attempt to pull away but found herself unable to move. His magic moved about her, encapsulating and constricting her own. She had never felt a feeling like it before, and it infuriated her. 

“Let me go,” her voice was dangerously cold, her emerald eyes violent with anger.

The mage glanced at her as he slowly drew a pair of thin, silver shackles from his robes. As he closed each one about her wrists, the faintest smile tugged at the corners of his lips. He released her hands, and Ciri instantly pulled away, reaching out for a distant point in space to quickly jump to. Her energy swelled within her, surging forward to carry her away - yet she remained stationary. A cold, jarring itch of electricity crept through her, a tingling in her bones, an emptiness in the pit of her stomach. She looked down at the shackles on her wrists. Though not physically connected to each other, she could feel a low pulsing emitting from each loop of metal.   
  
“Dimeritium?”   
  
The mage scoffed dismissively.   
  
“A barbaric solution. Attempting to explain the mechanism within these confines to you would be pointless. Suffice to say that there are more ways than one to clip your wings, Swallow, and there are magical properties in our world that simply do not exist in yours.”   
  
He turned to Eredin.   
  
“I have another matter to attend to, if I am no longer needed?”   
  
A slow, cunning smile spread across Eredin’s lips, and he nodded. A portal roared into life just a few feet from where the mage stood, and he turned and vanished into it without another word.   
  
“Avallac’h will find me,” Ciri whispered, her voice trembling. “And when he does, we’ll kill you together.”   
  
Eredin chuckled and seized her shackled wrists in each of his hands. He leaned in close.   
  
“A bold claim, little Swallow. You think you know Crevan well, but you do not. He is obsessed with you, certainly, his remnant of Lara, but he cannot and would not dare to harm another Aen Elle, let alone murder one.”   
  
“Then I’ll kill you myself,” she hissed, struggling in his grasp.   
  
He leaned in closer still, close enough to see the venomous mirth glittering in his eyes. She froze, glaring defiantly back, uncertain of what to expect of him. Eredin released one of her arms to stroke the curve of her jaw with his thumb.   
  
“It would be a pleasure to see you try, Zireael. In the meantime, while we wait for your valiant rescuer, welcome home.”   
  
He seized her roughly by the arm and ushered her forward. Eredin marched her through the street like a hunting prize, holding his head high and taking care to smile and wave to the spectators that watched them from either side. Elven eyes studied her closely, some curious, some sympathetic, some openly hostile. Ciri did her best to keep her gaze forward and her chin tilted stubbornly forward. She dismissed their stares, fought the urge to struggle and fight, for there was no point, nowhere to flee to. She kept her gaze forward on the road and on their destination. At last, they reached the courtyard. It looked much like she remembered it, though some changes in decor had been made since she had last seen it. Ciri paused, peering up at the tower that rose above them. Eredin pulled her forward impatiently. The grand doors swung open before them, a handful of servants rushing to clear the way for the King. She turned her head just in time to catch a fleeting glimpse of the outside world. The massive doors fell closed, and with the finality of them falling shut, Ciri’s stomach dropped, for she realized that if Eredin spoke the truth and Avallac’h did not come for her, she truly was alone. She felt the humming energy of the shackles at her wrists keenly then, for the sensation was a sharp reminder that there was no escape. For the first time, she was at Eredin’s mercy, a prisoner of Tir ná Lia. 

Avallac’h rushed to the spot where she had been just moments before. His head spun, his heart raced with panic.   
  
“No,” he gasped, “no, no, no. Zireael... _Ciri…_ ”   
  
He sunk to his knees, his fingers scrabbling desperately in the sand as if he could somehow summon her back. Yet he knew the truth very clearly - she was gone, taken to a place where he could not follow.   
  
He had told her the truth, opened his heart, confessed his deepest regret, and she had shunned him. He deserved it, he knew that. Even so, some small part of him had dared to hope that she would hear him and understand. That part of him had hoped that, even if she could not forgive him, she could see him and accept him for what he was. Instead, she had rejected him, and the very scenario he had been cautiously avoiding had come to pass. _Because of me_ . She was lost to him. And what was more, she was in terrible danger.   
  
Avallac’h closed his eyes and cursed softly. Hopelessness overwhelmed him, and the hot sting of tears pressed behind his eyes. He could not help but laugh, a terse, mirthless, hollow sound. How long had it been since he had wept? Decades, certainly. Centuries, most likely. He let the tears well and trace cold, creeping paths across his face before falling into the sand where they vanished. Behind him, Lara stood. He could feel her. Her gaze was cold, calculating, her disappointment palpable.   
  
“I’m sorry,” he whispered to her shade. “I’m so sorry.”   
  
It was Caranthir’s voice that answered. He had not even noticed the portal the mage had arrived by nor the footsteps that had brought him near, but he recognized the flat, careless way that he spoke immediately.   
  
“She belongs to Eredin, now.”   
  
“Curse you,” Avallac’h’s voice shuddered as he spoke. He continued to stare into the sand, not bothering to look upon his once-pupil. “Curse you, you arrogant fool. You have no idea what you’ve done.”   
  
“You are wrong. He will succeed where you failed. Do you know why, Crevan?”   
  
His fingers curled into the sand, his jaw clenching with rage.   
  
“Eredin will succeed because he is not afraid to do what must be done, something you were too weak to accomplish. He will bring her to heel and end the curse that plagues our people. If the power he harnesses allows for something more, that is his right. It is a right you forfeited when you surrendered her to Auberon, the witless retch.”   
  
“ _You will kill her._ ”   
  
“A possibility,” Caranthir nodded, folding his arms behind his back. “And a necessary sacrifice, if it comes to it.”   
  
Avallac’h lunged at him, silvery energy bursting to his fingertips as he reached for the other mage’s throat. Caranthir stumbled back in genuine surprise and instinctively summoned a protective barrier to rebuff him. Avallac’h’s fists struck the shield with bone-jarring force, his own magic birthing a myriad of cracks through the barrier, cracks that spread and multiplied at an untraceable speed until the integrity of the shield gave way. The shield shattered, its shards dissipating in the air before they could hit the ground. His hands were upon Caranthir’s throat in a heartbeat, and he forced the other mage to the ground, his pale eyes gleaming with raw brutality.   
  
“Finally,” Caranthir managed a strained laugh, his fingers scrabbling at Avallac’h’s hands. “A side of you I can respect.”   
  
“I will kill you,” Avallac’h hissed, his fingers tightening, “and your knowledge will die with you. Eredin, the sham that he is, will be lost without it.”   
  
Caranthir only smiled patronizingly, his eyes dancing with sadistic mirth. His hands fell to his sides in an apparent invitation of death. Avallac’h knew better. It was a dare, a calling of Avallac’h’s bluff. Despite all they had been through, all the reasons Avallac’h had to wish for his death, Caranthir knew him well. Cursing, he let go and threw the mage back and away from him in disgust, some of it directed at Caranthir, perhaps more of it directed at himself for his weakness.   
  
“You know if you return that Eredin will kill you. Or Imlerith will. Or I will,” the mage stood up slowly, indignantly brushing off his robes and massaging his reddened neck. “Do not come for her, Avallac’h. For once in your life, do what you must and let her go. Let her go, and be grateful that you can walk away with the rest of your own life to live.”   
  
Avallac’h looked up at him, his pale eyes cold, his voice so flat, so distant that he wondered for a moment if it was even his own.   
  
“You will die alongside your master. Perhaps not today, but you will, in time. I promise you.”   
  
Caranthir said nothing. Instead, he raised his hands, summoning forth a portal through which the sights and sounds and smells of Tir ná Lia drifted, sensations that instantly drove a cold and aching homesickness into his bones. Avallac’h stared into the portal, and for a moment he felt it surge through him, the will to give in, to run forward and return home, consequences be damned. But the portal closed before he could move, and he was alone once more on a strange, secluded shore, his mission failed, and Ciri, along with all hope that she had brought with her, gone.   
  


* * *

  
He led her through the palace and up the stairs, one flight after another. Her muscles were sore from running and fighting, her body tired and shaken from all that had transpired within the past few days, but she refused to show Eredin a glimpse of weakness and followed him closely. They reached their destination at last, and he halted, gesturing for her to step forward. When she raised her head to look around, however, Ciri blinked in surprise.   
  
“Not where you expected to land, Swallow?” Eredin must have been anticipating her reaction, for his voice dripped with cold amusement. “I am flattered at your disappointment in not finding yourself within my bedchambers.”   
  
Ciri ignored his comment, crossing her arms stolidly over her chest. “What is this?”   
  
“These are your quarters, where you will stay for the duration of your time at Tir ná Lia. Perhaps you expected me to have similar plans to those of Auberon and our dear Avallac’h. Rest easily, Swallow - I do not. Such a tedious, demeaning process, and an imperfect solution, at that. The transferring of the Elder Blood to some inept halfbreed? No, there are other ways to get what I want from you.”   
  
“What are you talking about?” Her arms tightened about her torso, but her face remained impassive and cold, revealing nothing of the fear that flitted within her heart as she awaited his answer. “What do you plan to take? What else can I possibly give you?”   
  
Eredin did not respond. Instead, he grinned, a malevolent, hollow look that gave her no consolation.   
  
“You may leave your rooms as you wish, but you must remain within the boundaries of the city. Any attempt to leave, and you will find yourself...unable.”   
  
He reached for her quickly, his fingers closing about the shackles on her wrists. He clutched them, drawing her close despite her efforts to pull away.   
  
“Heed me, Swallow,” he warned, his voice dangerously low. “If you attempt to flee, you will suffer. If you attempt to jump to another world, another time, you will suffer. Should you try to contact Avallac’h, you will be found out, and you will suffer. As will he. I will gladly hunt him down, just as I hunted you, and drag him back here, though I promise you this - his stay in Tir ná Lia will be far less comfortable than yours. Do you understand me, Swallow?”   
  
Eredin leaned his face in close to hers, aware of her the anger roiling in her eyes and clearly enjoying it.   
  
“Say the words,” he insisted, pulling her closer still until his face was inches from her own.   
  
“I understand.”   
  
“Good,” he crooned. She could feel his eyes upon her, feel the intensity of his wicked gaze, but she refused to look at him. With a grunt of disdain, he released her and turned towards the door. “You would do well to know your friends here, Zireael, though I have no doubt you will continue to be stubborn, foolish. Know that you will never leave this place without my permission.”   
  
He turned to leave, and her fingers shot instinctively to her belt for her sword but closed on air. Her hand trembled with a desperate anger that twisted through her insides and filled her mouth with iron bitterness. _Know that you will never leave this place without my permission_ . Eredin closed the door to her chambers, leaving her alone with her thoughts, her fears, her fury - she almost preferred his company. Like a dreamer, she drifted across the large room, her eyes blind to the beautiful architecture, the elaborate furniture, the exquisite clothes and jewelry and bottles of perfumes left for her. Ciri drifted out of the room and onto the balcony. She looked out over Tir ná Lia, the beautiful city that had haunted her dreams for so long, and then she looked down. She could hear Eredin’s words, see his face when she asked him of her fate. He had not answered, but no answer was needed. Ciri knew in her heart what was intended for her. Perhaps not the details, not the myriad of small pains she would suffer, the trials she would endure before the end, but she knew enough. Ciri looked down, and she considered it for only a moment, but in that moment, her breath caught in her throat. She looked down at the long fall and was sure it was far enough.   
  
_Just one step, one leap, one action._   
  
Ciri stepped to the edge of the balcony and clutched the railing.   
  
_Without your permission, Eredin? Fuck you._   
  
Her knuckles were white, her jaw ached from clenching. Tears fell down her face, but she did not notice them, nor did she notice the wind touseling her air, rushing through her ears. She closed her eyes.   
  
_“Ciri?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _He was calling for her just as he had been for the past ten minutes, but here was no note of anger or impatience in his voice. He liked this game, she knew, though he would never openly admit it. She pressed her hands to her lips, stifling the laugh that shook her frame, and shrunk further into the corner behind the sacks of grain._   
  
_“Ciri! You’d best come out, dinner’s ready, and Vesemir’s getting cranky!”_ _  
_ _  
_ _She bit her lip and held her breath as she heard him enter the dark storeroom._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Ciri...I know you’re in here. You left tracks. Come on out.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _She silently slipped into a crouch position, her movements making not even a whisper. She pressed her palms into the cold, earthen floor and waited for just the right moment. Geralt stalked by, his yellow eyes glittering in the low light. He moved past where she hid, and she leapt into the air, arms outstretched, hooting with delight._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Got you!”_ _  
_ _  
_ _He spun on his heel with the fluidness that only a witcher could embody. His arms shot out, snatching her out of the air effortlessly. He spun them both around and tossed her upwards. She screamed with delight at the feeling - she was weightless, free. Then, she was back in his arms, and he was holding her close in a gentle embrace, taking care not to hold her too tightly._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Got_ you. _”_ _  
_ _  
_ _He pressed his nose to hers for just a moment, and she chuckled, pressing his cheeks between her fists until he made a funny face. He lowered her carefully to the ground and held out his hand. She took it, her hand instantly lost within his, and looked up at him._ _  
_ _  
_ _“You found me, Geralt. You always find me.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _He smiled down at her, a true smile, a smile that lit up his eyes and softened the scars of his face. She smiled back at him._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Let’s get back before Vesemir tans_ both _of our hides.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _Geralt...where are you?_   
_  
_ Ciri opened her eyes and swayed. Her hands shot out, scrabbling desperately at the balcony rails, as she fought the vertigo that suddenly swept over her. She could barely see the ground below for the tears in her eyes, but she pushed herself backwards, back onto the balcony, back into the room, back to the bed with the elaborately-knitted blankets and colorful pillows. She collapsed onto it and gave in to the shuddering sobs that overtook her. Ciri wept into the pillows for seconds, minutes, hours - she did not know how long she lay there. She wept until there was nothing left inside of her, wept until all she could do was stare at the vibrantly-painted wall of her room, wept until all she could do was sleep.  
  


* * *

  
Her dreams were restless, and even as she slept, Ciri could feel knots of anxiety and worry twisting within her stomach. Even so, dreaming was a welcomed break from the harshness of her new reality, and so she gave in to sleep completely.   
  
She walked down an unfamiliar hallway. The walls were close together, the ceiling almost low enough to touch. Despite these details, nothing about this place felt claustrophobic. In fact, it felt quite warm, intimate, even welcoming. The walls were painted a warm sienna, and portraits whose details she could not make out hung upon them. Ahead, the glow of firelight illuminated a room she could not yet see. She continued forward, allowing her fingertips to drift along the textured wall.   
  
The hallway ended and gave way suddenly to a much more open space. Though still small, the ceiling was much higher, giving the room a sense of unexpected grandness. To the left, she noticed what appeared to be a small kitchen. Straight ahead and to her right sat a cozy living room. He was seated there, motionless, in a high-backed armchair. He was staring into the fire, but his gaze was sightless, adrift somewhere far off. She leaned in the doorway and crossed her arms across her chest, her lips creasing into a cold line.   
  
“I can’t even escape your kind in my sleep, it seems.” She looked about the small space warily. “What is this place?”   
  
He did not move. He did not appear to have heard her at all. There was no sound in the room, other than the steady, whispering crackle of the flames in the hearth.   
  
“Avallac’h?”   
  
He lifted his head at last and met her gaze. Avallac’h blinked once, absently, as if just now realizing she was present. He looked about, and a soft smile warmed his expression.   
  
“I lived here once, when I was a child,” there was a fondness in his voice she had heard only on rare occasion. “Only for a short duration, before I was taken by the Aen Saevherne for training. I lived with a woman, perhaps she was my mother, perhaps just a caretaker. It is a place few know of, and I am the only one left living, I suspect.”   
  
“It is beautiful,” Ciri admitted, stepping into the room and turning in a slow circle to take in the quaint living room. “It’s hard to imagine you as ever having been a child, to be honest. Carefree, innocent. Truthful. I wish I could have seen you then. You have no memories of your mother? Your parents?”   
  
An unknown series of emotions seemed to play within his eyes at her words, but he gave voice to none of them. His posture seemed to relax slightly, but his fingers pressed willfully into the arms of his chair. His thoughts were, as ever, elusive.   
  
“Not that I can recall.”   
  
“Aen Elle are not allowed to know their family?”   
  
“Not Aen Saevherne, not typically. There is a great emphasis placed on logic and reason within the order. It is frowned upon to dwell on sentimentality. It is a perspective I shared and agreed with for many years,” Avallac’h scoffed lightly, as if amused at the memory of his past self. “It is difficult to remember much of what I was like then, as a child. I know what I must seem to you, know all that I have done, but I am glad to know you now. I am glad for the chance to know you at all, Zireael.”   
  
She did not answer, and he did not press her for a response. The fire crackled, and a soft night’s wind gently rattled the window panes.   
  
“Eredin plans to take my power, doesn’t he? He doesn’t want to impregnate me, and he wants my power for his own - there’s only one logical solution for someone as barbaric as he is. He plans to draw it out of me, then kill me.”   
  
Avallac’h’s eyes flicked to hers in surprise as she spoke the words, and the pain she saw in them was enough to confirm her suspicions. Ciri exhaled a slow, shuddering breath as the realization of her fate swept over her fully. She closed her eyes and focused on the ground beneath her feet, felt the warmth of the fire. She did all she could to steady herself, but she still could not fight off the tremors that overtook her. For all of the warmth of the secluded space they shared, Ciri felt a sudden cold shoot through her, emanating from deep within and stretching out into her fingertips.   
  
“Avallac’h,” she whispered, eyes still closed. “Can he do it? Can he take my power from me?”   
  
The look he regarded her with seemed to be one of authentic sorrow and empathy for her plight, but how could she know if that were true? She wished for all the world that she could ask him for comfort. To be held and consoled was all she desired in that moment, but Ciri knew she stood in a room with a stranger, a man as much a mystery to her as the next, his motives and intentions forever elusive. She seemed to know him in one moment and found him completely unfamiliar in the next, and the realization only made her feel all the more alone.   
  
“I am unsure, Zireael, but I know that he and Caranthir are foolish enough to attempt it.”   
  
“I will not let him take it. I will not.” Her jaw clenched, and she lowered her head. “If I am to die either way, I will die before he can take it from me, I swear to the gods.”   
  
Fingertips brushed her shoulder. Ciri started. She had not heard him get up, let alone draw close. She looked up at him, defiant, refusing to hide the tears that welled in her eyes. His gaze was steadfast and impassive, but something in his demeanor had changed. There was a flicker of knowingness in his eyes, a cunningness that reminded her of his namesake. _The Fox._   
  
“I have an alternative - we do not reach the point where you must make that choice.”   
  
“How?” She snapped. “I walked right into his trap, and I cannot escape! He has me trapped within that damned city, and if _you_ come anywhere near, he’ll kill you or he’ll have his mage do it!”   
  
“Zireael, Tir ná Lia has been my home all my life. Eredin may have twisted it against me for the time being, but his efforts are limited and futile. As for his plans for you, those,” he paused, his expression turning grim, “they will take time. And they will take...experimentation. No such feat has ever been attempted before, to my knowledge, and even he is not so foolish that he would attempt to extract your power without first conducting tests.”   
  
His words buzzed in her ears like a swarm of hornets. Her skin prickled with pure, cold fear as her mind began to imagine what such tests could possibly entail. Visions of Vilgefortz’s lab - the horrifying tools and equipment posed carelessly about the room, the straps and chains, the overwhelming stench of chemicals - made her stomach twist with disgust and rage. She felt the urge to run welling up inside of her, a laughable urge, as she knew quite well that there was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide, no one who could extract her from this unending hell she was so deeply mired in. Her breathing grew swift. Her skin was covered in a thin sheen of icy sweat. She could hear a voice attempting to cut through the din inside her head, but she couldn’t make out the words…   
  
_“Ciri!”_   
  
Strong hands gripped her shoulders, demanding she return to the present, withdrawing her from her shock. His eyes locked onto hers, holding her in place as much as his hands were.   
  
“Avallac’h...I can’t.”   
  
“You can. You must. I will come for you as quickly as I am able, but until then, you must endure. I have seen you stand and fight again and again. You must do this once more, Zireael. I will find a way to get you out of Tir ná Lia, and--”   
  
“And then what?” She murmured flatly. “I’m tired, Avallac’h. I’m tired of running endlessly, tired of hiding. I have nothing left. I--”   
  
She allowed herself to fall against him, unable to stand on her own any longer. Warm arms encircled her, holding her upright. She pressed her face into his chest, hiding within the soft folds of his robes. Careful fingers brushed her hair back from her face, tucking it behind her ears, and when he spoke, she could feel the vibrations of his voice against her skin.   
  
“I know. I know, Zireael. There is nothing just about what you have been through nor what remains.”   
  
For some time he said nothing, for what more could be said? The fire crackled in the hearth, and the nighttime songs of insects drifted in from outside. He continued to stroke her hair, and if he felt the sobs gently shake her body or noticed the tears dampening his robes, he said nothing of them. At last, when her grief had subsided, he led her to the spot before the hearth, and they sat on the ground, side by side, and they spoke at length of their plan.   
  
“It will take time to achieve, and work. But I have seen a glimpse of what you are capable of, just a glimpse, and I am certain - you can do this.”   
  
“I understand,” Ciri nodded, yet he looked hesitant. “What is it, Avallac’h?”   
  
“Zireael...this will only succeed with your permission and with your participation. I will have to ask you to trust me once more.”   
  
Ciri considered his words carefully, reflecting on all she had learned, all they had discussed, and how she felt. When at last she spoke, her voice was steady and resolute, and the words came from her heart.   
  
“I do not have the strength to spare to continue worrying about the past. I know, now, who you are, and I acknowledge the things you have done. I understand, too, that things are not as simple as they once seemed. So, for now, I trust you, Avallac’h.”   
  
The Aen Saevherne inclined his head. Ciri studied his face, deep shadows cast by the firelight hiding most of it, and could not decide whether it was gratitude or disappointment that she saw. Either way, she knew, it did not matter. She rose to her feet at last and made her way across the room towards the door through which she had first entered. She lingered a moment longer, and he turned his head, their gaze meeting once more.   
  
“When you wake...treat Eredin with care, Zireael. He is proud and arrogant and overlooks a great deal due to his vanity, but he is no fool. Be wary.”   
  
“I will,” she turned. “See you soon.”   
  
Avallac’h and his constructed world faded away in an instant, lost to the vortex that sits between the dream world and the waking one. Aware of what was to come, what she would be required to face over the next days, weeks, months, Ciri allowed herself to return to her physical body gently. She did not jolt into wakefulness, did not even open her eyes. Instead, she opted to remain in bed and sleep shallowly, permitting herself to finally get some rest. She would need the strength it would afford her.


End file.
